3   1822  01097   1562 


3   1822  01097   1562 


A 


he  Sorceress 
of  Rome 


WORKS    OF 
NATHAN  GALLIZIER 

9 

Castel  del  Monte    .         .        .         .     $1.50 
The  Sorceress  of  Rome         .         .       1.5° 


L.  C.  PAGE   &   COMPANY 
New  England  Building,  Boston,  Mass. 


THE        " 

SORCERgSS 
OP  ROME 

BY 

NATHAN  G4LLIZIER 


PICTURES  BY 
THEKINNEY5 


DECOEATIONS  BYP.VERBURG 

L.G.PAGE  $  COMPANY 
BOSTON 


Copyright, 
BY  L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 


Entered  at  Stationer's  Hall,  London 


All  rights  reserved 


First  impression,  October,  1907 


COLONIAL    PRESS 

Eltctrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H .  Simonds  &•  Co. 
Boston,  U.S.A. 


INTRODUCTION 

The  darkness  of  the  tenth  century  is  dissipated  by  no  con 
temporary  historian.  Monkish  chronicles  alone  shed  a  faint 
light  over  the  discordant  chaos  of  the  Italian  world.  Rome 
was  no  longer  the  capital  of  the  earth.  The  seat  of  empire  had 
shifted  from  the  banks  of  the  Tiber  to  the  shores  of  the  Bosporus, 
and  the  seven  hilled  city  of  Constantino  had  assumed  the  im 
perial  purple  of  the  ancient  capital  of  the  Caesars. 

Centuries  of  struggles  with  the  hosts  of  foreign  invaders 
had  hi  time  lowered  the  state  of  civilization  to  such  a  degree, 
that  hi  point  of  literature  and  art  the  Rome  of  the  tenth  century 
could  not  boast  of  a  single  name  worthy  of  being  trans 
mitted  to  posterity.  Even  the  memory  of  the  men  whose 
achievements  in  the  days  of  its  glory  constituted  the  pride  and 
boast  of  the  Roman  world,  had  become  almost  extinct.  A 
great  lethargy  benumbed  the  Italian  mind,  engendered  by  the 
reaction  from  the  incessant  feuds  and  broils  among  the  petty 
tyrants  and  oppressors  of  the  country. 

Together  with  the  rest  of  the  disintegrated  states  of  Italy, 
united  by  no  common  bond,  Rome  had  become  the  prey  of  the 
most  terrible  disorders.  Papacy  had  fallen  into  all  manner  of 
corruption.  Its  former  halo  and  prestige  had  departed.  The 
chair  of  St.  Peter  was  sought  for  by  bribery  and  controlling 
influence,  often  by  violence  and  assassination,  and  the  city  was 
oppressed  by  factions  and  awed  into  submission  by  foreign 
adventurers  in  command  of  bands  collected  from  the  outcasts  of 
all  nations. 

From  the  day  of  Christmas  hi  the  year  800,  when  at  the  hands 
of  Pope  Leo  III,  Charlemagne  received  the  imperial  crown 
of  the  West,  the  German  Kings  dated  their  right  as  rulers  of 

vii 


INTRODUCTION 

Rome  and  the  Roman  world,  a  right,  feebly  and  ineffectually 
contested  by  the  emperors  of  the  East.  It  was  the  dream  of 
every  German  King  immediately  upon  his  election  to  cross  the 
Alps  to  receive  at  the  hand  of  the  Pope  the  crown  of  a  country 
which  resisted  and  resented  and  never  formally  recognized  a 
superiority  forced  upon  it.  Thus  from  time  to  time  we  rind 
Rome  alternately  in  revolt  against  German  rule,  punished, 
subdued  and  again  imploring  the  aid  of  the  detested  foreigners 
against  the  misrule  of  her  own  princes,  to  settle  the  disputes 
arising  from  pontifical  elections,  or  as  protection  against 
foreign  invaders  and  the  violence  of  contending  factions. 

Plunged  in  an  abyss  from  which  she  saw  no  other  means  of 
extricating  herself,  harassed  by  the  Hungarians  hi  Lombardy 
and  the  Saracens  hi  Calabria,  Italy  had,  in  the  year  961,  called 
on  Otto  the  Great,  King  of  Germany,  for  assistance.  Little 
opposition  was  made  to  this  powerful  monarch.  Berengar  II, 
the  reigning  sovereign  of  Italy,  submitted  and  agreed  to  hold 
his  kingdom  of  him  as  a  fief.  Otto  thereupon  returned  to 
Germany,  but  new  disturbances  arising,  he  crossed  the  Alps 
a  second  time,  deposed  Berengar  and  received  at  the  hands 
of  Pope  John  XII  the  imperial  dignity  nearly  suspended  for 
forty  years. 

Every  ancient  prejudice,  every  recollection  whether  of 
Augustus  or  Charlemagne,  had  led  the  Romans  to  annex  the 
notion  of  sovereignty  to  the  name  of  Roman  emperor,  nor  were 
Otto  and  his  two  immediate  descendants  inclined  to  waive 
these  supposed  prerogatives,  which  they  were  well  able  to  en 
force.  But  no  sooner  had  they  returned  to  Germany  than  the 
old  habit  of  revolt  seized  the  Italians,  and  especially  the  Romans 
who  were  ill  disposed  to  resume  habits  of  obedience  even  to  the 
sovereign  whose  aid  they  had  implored  and  received.  The 
flames  of  rebellion  swept  again  over  the  seven  hilled  city 
during  the  rule  of  Otto  II,  whose  aid  the  Romans  had  invoked 
against  the  invading  hordes  of  Islam,  and  the  same  republican 

viii 


INTRODUCTION 

spirit  broke  out  during  the  brief,  but  fantastic  reign  of  his  son, 
the  third  Otto,  directing  itself  in  the  latter  instance  chiefly 
against  the  person  of  the  youthful  pontiff,  Bruno  of  Carinthia, 
the  friend  of  the  King,  whose  purity  stands  out  in  marked  con 
trast  against  the  depravity  of  the  monsters,  who,  to  the  number 
of  ten,  had  during  the  past  five  decades  defiled  the  throne  of 
the  Apostle.  Gregory  V  is  said  to  have  been  assassinated  during 
Otto's  absence  from  Rome. 

The  third  rebellion  of  Johannes  Crescentius,  Senator  of  Rome, 
enacted  after  the  death  of  the  pontiff  and  the  election  of  Syl 
vester  II,  forms  but  the  prelude  to  the  great  drama  whose  final 
curtain  was  to  fall  upon  the  do'om  of  the  third  Otto,  of  whose 
love  for  Stephania,  the  beautiful  wife  of  Crescentius,  innu 
merable  legends  are  told  in  the  old  monkish  chronicles  and 
whose  tragic  death  caused  a  lament  to  go  throughout  the  world 
of  the  Millennium. 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  THE  FIRST 

Chapter  Page 

I.  The    Grand    Chamberlain 3 

II.  The  Pageant  in  the  Navona 15 

III.  On  the   Palatine 28 

IV.  The  Wanton  Court  of  Theodora 40 

V.  The   Wager ]  53 

VI.  John  of  the  Catacombs 73 

VII.  The  Vision  of  San  Pancrazio 85 

VIII.  Castel  San  Angelo 97 

IX.  The  Sermon  in  the  Ghetto 116 

X.  The    Cicilian    Dancer 132 

XI.  Nilus   of   Gaeta 144 

XII.  Red  Falernian 154 

XIII.  Dead  Leaves 162 

XIV.  The  Phantom  at  the  Shrine 173 

XV.  The  Death  Watch 184 

XVI.  The  Conclave 196 

BOOK  THE  SECOND 

I.  The  Meeting 201 

II.  The  Queen  of  Night 208 

III.  The  Elixir  of  Love 222 

IV.  The  Secret  of  the  Tomb 233 

V.  The  Grottos  of  Egeria 243 

VI.  Beyond  the  Grave 261 

VII.  Ara  Coeli 273 


CONTENTS 

Chapter  Page 

VIII.    The  Gothic  Tower 285 

IX.    The  Snare  of  the  Fowler 294 

X.    The  Temple  of   Neptune 302 

XI.    The   Incantation 314 

XII.    The   Hermitage   of   Nilus 323 

XIII.    The   Lion  of  Basalt 339 

XIV.    The   Last   Tryst 350 

XV.    The  Storm  of  Castel  San  Angelo        ....  374 

XVI.    The    Forfeit 397 

XVII.    Nemesis 407 

XVIII.    Vale    Roma 423 

BOOK  THE  THIRD 

I.    Paterno 433 

II.    Memories 437 

III.  The    Consummation 445 

IV.  The  Angel  of  the  Agony 455 

V.    Return 462 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 

"  Was  Stephania  not  overacting  her  part?"  (See page j//)  Frontispiece 
"Looking  up  from  the  task  he  was  engaged  in  "  .  .  .81 
"  Persisting  in  his  endeavour  to  remove  her  mask  "...  138 
"  The  haunting  memories  of  Stephania  " 438 


Book  the  First 

he  Truce 
of  God 


"  As  I  came  through  the  desert,  thus  it  was 
As  I  came  through  the  desert:     All  was  black, 
In  heaven  no  single  star,  on  earth  no  track; 
A  brooding  hush  without  a  stir  or  note, 
The  air  so  thick  it  clotted  in  my  throat. 
And  thus  for  hours ;  then  some  enormous  things 
Swooped  past  with  savage  cries  and  clanking  wings ; 

But  I  strode  on  austere; 

No  hope  could  have  no  fear." 

— James  Thomson. 


BOOK  THE  FIRST 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  GRAND  CHAMBERLAIN 

T  was  the  hour  of  high  noon 
on  a  sultry  October  day  in 
Rome,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord 
nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine. 
In  the  porphyry  cabinet  of 
the  imperial  palace  on  Mount 
Aventine,  before  a  table  covered 
with  parchments  and  scrolls, 
there  sat  an  individual,  who 
even  in  the  most  brilliant  as 
sembly  would  have  attracted  general  and  immediate  attention. 
Judging  from  his  appearance  he  had  scarcely  passed  his 
thirtieth  year.  His  bearing  combined  a  marked  grace  and  in 
tellectuality.  The  finely  shaped  head  poised  on  splendid 
shoulders  denoted  power  and  intellect.  The  pale,  olive  tints 
of  the  face  seemed  to  intensify  the  brilliancy  of  the  black  eyes 
whose  penetrating  gaze  revealed  a  singular  compound  of 
mockery  and  cynicism.  The  mouth,  small  but  firm,  was  not 
devoid  of  disdain,  and  even  cruelty,  and  the  smile  of  the  thin, 
compressed  lips  held  something  more  subtle  than  any  passion 
that  can  be  named.  His  ears,  hands  and  feet  were  of  that 
delicacy  and  smallness,  which  is  held  to  denote  aristocracy  of 
birth.  And  there  was  in  his  manner  that  indescribable  com 
bination  of  unobtrusive  dignity  and  affected  elegance  which,  in 
all  ages  and  countries,  through  all  changes  of  manners  and 
customs  has  rendered  the  demeanour  of  its  few  chosen  pos 
sessors  the  instantaneous  interpreter  of  their  social  rank. 

3 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

He  was  dressed  in  a  crimson  tunic,  fastened  with  a  clasp  of 
mother-of-pearl.  Tight  fitting  hose  of  black  and  crimson 
terminating  in  saffron-coloured  shoes  covered  his  legs,  and  a  red 
cap,  pointed  at  the  top  and  rolled  up  behind  brought  the  head 
into  harmony  with  the  rest  of  the  costume. 

Now  and  then,  Benilo,  the  Grand  Chamberlain,  cast  quick 
glances  at  the  sand-clock  on  the  table  before  him;  at  last 
with  a  gesture  of  mingled  impatience  and  annoyance,  he 
pushed  back  the  scrolls  he  had  been  examining,  glanced  again 
at  the  clock,  arose  and  strode  to  a  window  looking  out  upon 
the  western  slopes  of  Mount  Aventine. 

The  sun  was  slowly  setting,  and  the  light  green  silken  curtains 
hung  motionless,  in  the  almost  level  rays.  The  stone  houses  of 
the  city  and  her  colossal  rums  glowed  with  a  brightness  almost 
overpowering.  Not  a  ripple  stirred  the  surface  of  the  Tiber, 
whose  golden  coils  circled  the  base  of  Aventine ;  not  a  breath 
of  wind  filled  the  sails  of  the  deserted  fishing  boats,  which 
swung  lazily  at  their  moorings.  Over  the  distant  Campagna 
hung  a  hot,  quivering  mist  and  hi  the  vineyards  climbing  the 
Janiculan  Mount  not  a  leaf  stirred  upon  its  slender  stem. 
The  ramparts  of  Castel  San  Angelo  dreamed  deserted  in  the 
glow  of  the  westering  sun,  and  beyond  the  horizon  of  ancient 
Portus,  torpid,  waveless  and  suffused  hi  a  flood  of  dazzling 
brightness,  the  Tyrrhene  Sea  stretched  toward  the  cloudless 
horizon  which  closed  the  sun-bright  view. 

How  long  the  Grand  Chamberlain  had  thus  abstractedly 
gazed  out  upon  the  seven-hilled  city  gradually  sinking  into  the 
repose  of  evening,  he  was  scarcely  conscious,  when  a  slight 
knock,  which  seemed  to  come  from  the  wall,  caused  him  to 
start.  After  a  brief  interval  it  was  repeated.  Benilo  drew  the 
curtains  closer,  gave  another  glance  at  the  sand-clock,  nodded 
to  himself,  then,  approaching  the  opposite  wall,  decorated 
with  scenes  from  the  Metamorphoses  of  Ovid,  touched  a  hidden 
spring.  Noiselessly  a  panel  receded  and,  from  the  chasm  thus 

4 


THE   GRAND    CHAMBERLAIN 

revealed,  something  like  a  shadow  passed  swiftly  into  the 
cabinet,  the  panel  closing  noiselessly  behind  it. 

Benilo  had  reseated  himself  at  the  table,  and  beckoned  his 
strange  visitor  to  a  chair,  which  he  declined.  He  was  tall  and 
lean  and  wore  the  gray  habit  of  the  Penitent  friars,  the  cowl 
drawn  over  his  face,  concealing  his  features. 

For  some  minutes  neither  the  Grand  Chamberlain  nor  his 
visitor  spoke.  At  last  Benilo  broke  the  silence. 

"  You  are  the  bearer  of  a  message?  " 

The  monk  nodded. 

"  Tell  me  the  worst!  Bad  news  is  like  decaying  fruit.  It 
becomes  the  more  rotten  with  the  keeping." 

"  The  worst  may  be  told  quickly  enough,"  said  the  monk 
with  a  voice  which  caused  the  Chamberlain  to  start. 

"  The  Saxon  dynasty  is  resting  on  two  eyes." 

Benilo  nodded. 

"  On  two  eyes,"  he  repeated,  straining  his  gaze  towards  the 
monk. 

"  They  will  soon  be  closed  for  ever!  " 

The  Chamberlain  started  from  his  seat. 

"  I  do  not  understand." 

"  The  fever  does  not  temporize." 

"  'Tis  the  nature  of  the  raven  to  croak.  Let  thine  im 
provising  damn  thyself." 

"  Fate  and  the  grave  are  relentless.  I  am  the  messenger 
of  both!  " 

"  King  Otto  dying  ?  "  the  Chamberlain  muttered  to  himself. 
"  Away  from  Rome,  —  the  Fata  Morgana  of  his  dreams  ?  " 

A  gesture  of  the  monk  interrupted  the  speaker. 

"  When  a  knight  makes  a  vow  to  a  lady,  he  does  not  thereby 
become  her  betrothed.  She  oftener  marries  another." 

"  Yet  the  Saint  may  work  a  miracle.  The  Holy  Father  is 
praying  so  earnestly  for  his  deliverance,  that  Saint  Michael 
may  fear  for  his  prestige,  did  he  not  succour  him." 

5 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

"  Your  heart  is  tenderer  than  I  had  guessed." 

"  And  joined  by  the  prayers  of  such  as  you  —  " 

The  monk  raised  his  hand. 

"  Nay,  —  I  am  not  holy  enough." 

"  I  thought  they  were  all  saints  at  San  Zeno." 

"  That  is  for  Rome  to  say." 

There  was  a  brief  pause  during  which  Benilo  gazed  into 
space.     The  monk  heard  him  mutter  the  word  "  Dying  - 
dying  "  as  if  therein  lay  condensed   the  essence  of  all  his 
life. 

Reseating  himself  the  Chamberlain  seemed  at  last  to  remem 
ber  the  presence  of  his  visitor,  who  scrutinized  him  stealthily 
from  under  his  cowl.  Pointing  to  a  parchment  on  the  table 
before  him,  he  said  dismissing  the  subject: 

"  You  are  reported  as  one  in  whom  I  may  place  full  trust, 
in  whom  I  may  implicitly  confide.  I  hate  the  black  cassocks. 
A  monk  and  misfortune  are  seldom  apart.  You  see  I  dissemble 
not." 

The  Grand  Chamberlain's  visitor  nodded. 

"  A  viper's  friend  must  needs  be  a  viper,  —  like  to  like !  " 

"  'Tis  not  the  devil's  policy  to  show  the  cloven  hoof." 

"  Yet  an  eavesdropper  is  best  equipped  for  a  prophet." 

Again  the  Chamberlain  started. 

Straining  his  gaze  towards  the  monk,  who  stood  immobile 
as  a  phantom,  he  said: 

"  It  is  reported  that  you  are  about  to  render  a  great  service 
to  Rome." 

The  monk  nodded. 

"  A  country  without  a  king  is  bad !  But  to  carry  the  matter 
just  a  trifle  farther,  —  to  dream  of  Christendom  without  a 
Pope  —  " 

"  You  would  not  dare !  "  exclaimed  Benilo  with  real  or 
feigned  surprise,  "  you  would  not  dare !  In  the  presence  of 
the  whole  Christian  world  ?  Rome  can  do  nothing  without 

6 


THE   GRAND   CHAMBERLAIN 

the  Sun,  —  nothing  without  the  Pope.    Take  away  his  bene 
diction  :    *  Urbi  et  Orbi '  —  What  would  prosper  ?  " 

"  You  are  a  poet  and  a  Roman.  I  am  a  monk  and  a  native 
of  Aragon." 

Benilo  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  'Tis  but  the  old  question :  Cui  bono?  How  many  pontiffs 
have,  within  the  memory  of  man,  defiled  the  chair  of  Saint 
Peter  ?  Who  are  your  reformers  ?  Libertines  and  gossipers  in 
the  taverns  of  the  Suburra,  among  fried  fish,  painted  women, 
and  garlic;  in  prosperity  proud,  in  adversity  cowards,  but 
infamous  ever!  The  fifth  Gregory  alone  soars  so  high  above 
the  earth,  he  sees  not  the  vermin,  the  mire  beneath." 

"  Perhaps  they  wished  to  let  the  mire  accumulate,  to  furnish 
work  for  the  iron  broom  of  your  tramontane  saint!  Are  not 
his  shoulders  bent  in  holy  contemplation,  like  the  moon  in  the 
first  quarter  ?  Is  he  not  shocked  at  the  sight  of  misery  and  of 
dishevelled  despair?  His  sensitive  nerves  would  see  them  with 
the  hair  dressed  and  bound  like  that  of  an  antique  statue." 

"  Ay !  And  the  feudal  barons  stick  in  his  palate  like  the  hook 
in  the  mouth  of  the  dog  fish." 

"  We  want  no  more  martyrs !  The  light  of  the  glow-worm 
continues  to  shine  after  the  death  of  the  insect." 

"  It  was  a  conclave,  that  disposed  of  the  usurper,  John 
XVI." 

"  Ay !  And  the  bravo,  when  he  discovered  his  error,  paid  for 
three  candles  for  the  pontiff's  soul,  and  the  monk  who  officiated 
at  the  last  rites  praised  the  departed  so  loudly,  that  the  corpse 
sat  up  and  laughed.  And  now  he  is  immortal  and  possesses  the 
secret  of  eternal  life,"  the  monk  concluded  with  downcast 
eyes. 

"  Yet  there  is  one  I  fear,  —  one  who  seems  to  enlist  a  special 
providence  in  his  cause." 

"  Gerbert  of  Cluny  —  " 

"  The  monk  of  Aurillac !  " 

7 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

"  They  say  that  he  is  leagued  with  the  devil ;  that  in  his 
closet  he  has  a  brazen  head,  which  answers  all  questions, 
and  through  which  the  devil  has  assured  him  that  he  shall  not 
die,  till  he  has  said  mass  hi  Jerusalem." 

"He  is  competent  to  convert  a  brimstone  lake." 

"  Yet  a  true  soldier  seeks  for  weak  spots  in  the  armour." 

"  I  am  answered.    But  the  time  and  the  place?  " 

"  In  the  Ghetto  at  sunset." 

"  And  the  reward  ?  " 

"  The  halo  of  a  Saint." 

"  What  of  your  conscience's  peace  ?  " 

"  May  not  a  man  and  his  conscience,  like  ill-mated  consorts, 
be  on  something  less  than  speaking  terms  ?  " 

"  They  kill  by  the  decalogue  at  San  Zeno." 

"  Exitus  acta  probat!  "  returned  the  monk  solemnly. 

Benilo  raised  his  hand  warningly. 

"  Let  him  disappear  quietly  —  ecclesiastically." 

"  What  is  gamed  by  caution  when  one  stands  on  an  earth 
quake  ?  "  asked  the  monk. 

"  You  deem  not,  then,  that  Heaven  might  take  so  strong  an 
interest  in  Gerbert's  affairs,  as  to  send  some  of  the  blessed  to 
his  deliverance?  "  queried  Benilo  suavely. 

The  Chamberlain's  visitor  betrayed  impatience. 

"  If  Heaven  troubled  itself  much  about  what  is  done  on  earth, 
the  world's  business  would  be  well-nigh  bankrupt." 

"Ay!  And  even  the  just  may  fall  by  his  own  justice!" 
nodded  Benilo.  "  He  should  have  made  his  indulgences  dearer, 
and  harder  to  win.  Why  takes  he  not  the  lesson  from  women?  " 

There  was  a  brief  pause,  during  which  Benilo  had  arisen 
and  paced  up  and  down  the  chamber.  His  visitor  remained 
immobile,  though  his  eyes  followed  Benilo's  every  step. 

At  last  the  Grand  Chamberlain  paused  directly  before  him. 

"  How  fares  his  Eminence  of  Orvieto  ?  He  was  ailing  at 
last  reports,"  he  asked. 

8 


THE   GRAND    CHAMBERLAIN 

"  He  died  on  his  way  to  Rome,  of  a  disease,  sudden  as  the 
plague.  He  loved  honey,  —  they  will  accuse  the  bees." 

With  a  nod  of  satisfaction  Benilo  continued  his  peram 
bulation. 

"  Tell  me  better  news  of  our  dearly  beloved  friend,  Mon- 
signor  Agnello,  Archbishop  of  Cosenza,  Clerk  of  the  Chamber 
and  Vice-Legate  of  Viterbo." 

"  He  was  found  dead  in  his  bed,  after  eating  a  most  hearty 
supper,"  the  monk  spoke  dolefully. 

"  Alas,  poor  man !  That  was  sudden.  But  such  holy  men 
are  always  ready  for  their  call,"  replied  the  Grand  Chamberlain 
with  downcast  eyes.  "  And  what  part  has  his  Holiness  as 
signed  me  in  his  relics?  " 

"  Some  flax  of  his  hair  shirt,  to  coil  a  rope  therewith," 
replied  the  monk. 

"A  princely  benefaction!  But  your  commission  for  the 
Father  of  Christendom?  For  indeed  I  fear  the  vast  treasures 
he  has  heaped  up,  will  hang  like  a  leaden  mountain  on  his 
ascending  soul." 

"  The  Holy  Father  himself  has  summoned  me  to  Rome!  " 
The  words  seemed  to  sound  from  nowhere.  Yet  they  hovered 
on  the  air  like  the  knell  of  Fate. 

The  Grand-Chamberlain  paused,  stared  and  shuddered. 

"  And  who  knows,"  continued  the  monk  after  a  pause, 
"  but  that  by  some  divine  dispensation  all  the  refractory 
cardinals  of  the  Sacred  College  may  contract  some  incurable 
disease?  Have  you  secured  the  names,  —  just  to  ascertain  if 
their  households  are  well  ordered  ?  " 

"  The  name  of  every  cardinal  and  bishop  in  Rome  at  the 
present  hour." 

"  Give  it  to  me." 

A  hand  white  as  that  of  a  corpse  came  from  the  monk's 
ample  parting  sleeves  in  which  Benilo  placed  a  scroll,  which  he 
had  taken  from  the  table. 

9 


THE  SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

The  monk  unrolled  it.  After  glancing  down  the  list  of  names, 
he  said: 

"  The  Cardinal  of  Gregorio." 

The  Chamberlain  betokened  his  understanding  with  a  nod. 

"  He  claims  kinship  with  the  stars." 

"  The  Cardinal  of  San  Pietro  in  Montorio." 

An  evil  smile  curved  Benilo's  thin,  white  lips. 

"  An  impostor,  proved,  confessed,  —  his  conscience  pawned 
to  a  saint  —  " 

"  The  Cardinal  of  San  Onofrio,  —  he,  who  held  you  over  the 
baptismal  fount,"  said  the  monk  with  a  quick  glance  at  the 
Chamberlain. 

"  I  had  no  hand  in  my  own  christening." 

The  monk  nodded. 

"  The  Cardinal  of  San  Silvestro." 

"  He  vowed  he  would  join  the  barefoot  friars,  if  he  re 
covered." 

"  He  would  have  made  a  stalwart  mendicant.  All  the  women 
would  have  confessed  to  him." 

"  It  is  impossible  to  escape  immortality,"  sighed  Benilo. 

"  Obedience  is  holiness,"  replied  the  other. 

After  carefully  reviewing  the  not  inconsiderable  list  of  names, 
and  placing  a  cross  against  some  of  them,  the  monk  returned 
the  scroll  to  its  owner. 

When  the  Chamberlain  spoke  again,  his  voice  trembled 
strangely. 

"  What  of  the  Golden  Chalice?  " 

"  Offerimus  tibi  Domine,  Calicem  Salutaris,"  the  monk 
quoted  from  the  mass.  "  What  differentiates  Sacramental 
Wine  from  Malvasia?  " 

The  Chamberlain  pondered. 

"  Perhaps  a  degree  or  two  of  headiness?  " 

"  Is  it  not  rather  a  degree  or  two  of  holiness?  "  replied  the 
monk  with  a  strange  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

10 


THE   GRAND    CHAMBERLAIN 

"  The  Season  claims  its  mercies." 

"  Can  one  quench  a  furnace  with  a  parable?  " 

"  The  Holy  Host  may  work  a  miracle." 

"  It  is  the  concern  of  angels  to  see  their  sentences  enforced." 

"  Sic  itur  ad  astra,"  said  the  Chamberlain  devoutly. 

And  like  an  echo  it  came  from  his  visitor's  lips : 

"  Sic  itur  ad  astra !  " 

"  We  understand  each  other,"  Benilo  spoke  after  a  pause, 
arising  from  his  chair.  "  But  remember,"  he  added  with  a 
look,  which  seemed  to  pierce  his  interlocutor  through  and 
through.  "  What  thou  dost,  monk,  thou  dost.  If  thy  hand 
fail,  I  know  thee  not !  " 

Stepping  to  the  panel,  Benilo  was  about  to  touch  the  secret 
spring,  when  a  thought  arrested  his  hand. 

"  Thou  hast  seen  my  face,"  he  turned  to  the  monk.  "  It  is 
but  meet,  that  I  see  thine." 

Without  a  word  the  monk  removed  his  cowl.  As  he  did  so, 
Benilo  stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  as  if  a  ghost  had  arisen  from 
the  stone  floor  before  him. 

"  Madman !  "  he  gasped.  "  You  dare  to  show  yourself  in 
Rome  ?  " 

A  strange  light  gleamed  in  the  monk's  eyes. 

"  I  came  in  quest  of  the  End  of  Time.  Do  you  doubt  the 
sincerity  of  my  intent  ?  " 

For  a  moment  they  faced  each  other  in  silence,  then  the 
monk  turned  and  vanished  without  another  word  through  the 
panel  which  closed  noiselessly  behind  him. 

When  Benilo  found  himself  once  more  alone,  all  the  elas 
ticity  of  temper  and  mind  seemed  to  have  deserted  him.  All 
the  colour  had  faded  from  his  face,  all  the  light  seemed  to 
have  gone  from  his  eyes.  Thus  he  remained  for  a  space, 
neither  heeding  his  surroundings,  nor  the  flight  of  time.  At 
last  he  arose  and,  traversing  the  cabinet,  made  for  a  remote 
door  and  passed  out.  Whatever  were  his  thoughts,  no  out- 

ii 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

ward  sign  betrayed  them,  as  with  the  suave  and  impenetrable 
mien  of  the  born  courtier,  he  entered  the  vast  hall  of  audience. 

A  motley  crowd  of  courtiers,  officers,  monks  and  foreign 
envoys,  whose  variegated  costumes  formed  a  dazzling  kaleido 
scope  almost  bewildering  to  the  unaccustomed  eye,  met  the 
Chamberlain's  gaze. 

The  greater  number  of  those  present  were  recruited  from 
the  ranks  of  the  Roman  nobility,  men  whose  spare,  elegant 
figures  formed  a  striking  contrast  to  the  huge  giants  of  the 
German  imperial  guard.  The  mongrel  and  craven  descendants 
of  African,  Syrian  and  Slavonian  slaves,  a  strange  jumble  of 
races  and  types,  with  all  the  visible  signs  of  their  hetero 
geneous  origin,  stared  with  insolent  wonder  at  the  fair-haired 
sons  of  the  North,  who  took  their  orders  from  no  man,  save  the 
grandson  of  the  mighty  emperor  Otto  the  Great,  the  vanquisher 
of  the  Magyars  on  the  tremendous  field  of  the  Lech. 

A  strange  medley  of  palace  officials,  appointed  after  the 
ruling  code  of  the  Eastern  Empire,  chamberlains,  pages  and 
grooms,  masters  of  the  outer  court,  masters  of  the  inner 
court,  masters  of  the  robe,  masters  of  the  horse,  seneschals, 
high  stewards  and  eunuchs,  in  their  sweeping  citron  and 
orange  coloured  gowns,  lent  a  glowing  enchantment  to  the 
scene. 

No  glaring  lights  marred  the  pervading  softness  of  the 
atmosphere;  all  objects  animate  and  inanimate  seemed  in 
complete  harmony  with  each  other.  The  entrance  to  the 
great  hall  of  audience  was  flanked  with  two  great  pillars  of 
Numidian  marble,  toned  by  time  to  hues  of  richest  orange. 
The  hall  itself  was  surrounded  by  a  colonnade  of  the  Corinthian 
order,  whereon  had  been  lavished  exquisite  carvings ;  in  niches 
behind  the  columns  stood  statues  in  basalt,  thrice  the  size  of 
life.  Enormous  pillars  of  rose-coloured  marble  supported  the 
roof,  decorated  in  the  fantastic  Byzantine  style;  the  floor, 
composed  of  serpentine,  porphyry  and  Numidian  marble,  was  a 

12 


THE   GRAND    CHAMBERLAIN 

superb  work  of  art.  In  the  centre  a  fountain  threw  up  sprays 
of  perfumed  water,  its  basin  bordered  with  glistening  shells 
from  India  and  the  Archipelago. 

Passing  slowly  down  the  hall,  Benilo  paused  here  and  there 
to  exchange  greetings  with  some  individual  among  the 
numerous  groups,  who  were  conversing  in  hushed  whispers 
on  the  event  at  this  hour  closest  to  their  heart,  the  illness  of 
King  Otto  III,  in  the  cloisters  of  Monte  Gargano  in  Apulia 
whither  he  had  journeyed  on  a  pilgrimage  to  the  grottoes  of 
the  Archangel.  Conflicting  rumours  were  rife  as  to  the  course 
of  the  illness,  and  each  seemed  fearful  of  venturing  a  surmise, 
which  might  precipitate  a  crisis,  fraught  with  direst  conse 
quences.  The  times  and  the  Roman  temper  were  uncertain. 

The  countenance  of  Archbishop  Heribert  of  Cologne,  Chan 
cellor  of  the  Empire,  reflected  grave  apprehension,  which  was 
amply  shared  by  his  companions,  Archbishop  Willigis  of  Mentz, 
and  Luitprand,  Archbishop  of  Cremona,  the  Patriarch  of 
Christendom,  whose  snow-white  hair  formed  a  striking  con 
trast  to  the  dark  and  bronzed  countenance  of  Count  Benedict 
of  Palestrina,  and  Pandulph  of  Capua,  Lord  of  Spoleto  and 
Beneventum,  the  lay-members  of  the  group.  The  conversation, 
though  held  in  whispered  tones  and  inaudible  to  those  moving 
on  the  edge  of  their  circle,  was  yet  animated  and  it  would  seem, 
that  hope  had  but  a  small  share  in  the  surmises  they  ventured  on 
what  the  days  to  come  held  in  store  for  the  Saxon  dynasty. 

Without  paying  further  heed  to  the  motley  throng,  which 
surged  up  and  down  the  hall  of  audience,  seemingly  indifferent 
to  the  whispered  comments  upon  himself  as  a  mere  man  of 
pleasure,  Benilo  seated  himself  upon  a  couch  at  the  western 
extremity  of  the  hall.  With  the  elaborate  deliberation  of  a 
man  who  disdains  being  hurried  by  anything  whatsoever,  he 
took  a  piece  of  vellum  from  his  doublet,  on  which  from  time 
to  time  he  traced  a  few  words.  Assuming  a  reclining  position, 
he  appeared  absorbed  in  deep  study,  seemingly  unheedful  of  his 

13 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

surroundings.  Yet  a  close  observer  might  have  remarked  that 
the  Chamberlain's  gaze  roamed  unsteadily  from  one  group  to 
another,  until  some  chance  passer-by  deflected  its  course  and 
BenUo  applied  himself  to  his  ostentatious  task  more  studiously 
than  before. 

"  What  does  the  courtier  in  the  parrot-frock?  "  Duke 
Bernhardt  of  Saxony,  stout,  burly,  asthmatic,  addressed  a  tall, 
sallow  individual,  in  a  rose-coloured  frock,  who  strutted  by  his 
side  with  the  air  of  an  inflated  peacock. 

John  of  Calabria  gave  a  sigh. 

"  Alas!    He  writes  poetry  and  swears  by  the  ancient  Gods!  " 

"  By  the  ancient  Gods!  "  puffed  the  duke,  "  a  commendable 
habit !  As  for  his  poetry,  —  the  bees  sometimes  deposit  their 
honey  in  the  mouth  of  a  dead  beast." 

"  And  yet  the  Philistines  solved  not  Samson's  riddle,"  sighed 
the  Greek. 

"  Ay!  And  the  devil  never  ceases  to  cut  wood  for  him,  who 
wishes  to  keep  the  kettle  boiling,"  spouted  the  duke  with  an 
irate  look  at  his  companion  as  they  lost  themselves  among  the 
throngs.  Suddenly  a  marked  hush,  the  abrupt  cessation  of  the 
former  all-pervading  hum,  caused  Benilo  to  glance  toward  the 
entrance  of  the  audience  hall.  As  he  did  so,  the  vellum  rolled 
from  his  nerveless  hand  upon  the  marble  floor. 


CHAPTER  II 


THE  PAGEANT  IN  THE  NAVONA 

HE  man,  who  had  entered  the 
hall  of  audience  with  the  air  of 
one  to  whom  every  nook  and 
corner  was  familiar,  looked  what 
he  was,  a  war-worn  veteran, 
bronzed  and  hardened  by  the 
effect  of  many  campaigns  in 
many  climes.  Yet  his  robust 
frame  and  his  physique  betrayed 
but  slight  evidence  of  those 
fatigues  and  hardships  which  had  been  the  habits  of  his  life. 
Only  a  tinge  of  gray  through  the  close-cropped  hair,  and  now 
and  then  the  listless  look  of  one  who  has  grown  weary  with 
campaigning,  gave  token  that  the  prime  had  passed.  In 
repose  his  look  was  stern  and  pensive,  softening  at  moments 
into  an  expression  of  intense  melancholy  and  gloom.  A  long 
black  mantle,  revealing  traces  of  prolonged  and  hasty  travel, 
covered  his  tall  and  stately  form.  Beneath  it  gleamed  a  dark 
suit  of  armour  with  the  dull  sheen  of  dust  covered  steel.  His 
helmet,  fashioned  after  a  dragon  with  scales,  wings,  and  fins  of 
wrought  brass,  resembled  the  headgear  of  the  fabled  Vikings. 

This  personage  was  Margrave  Eckhardt  of  Meissen,  com- 
mander-in-chief  of  the  German  hosts,  Great  Warden  of  the 
Eastern  March,  and  chief  adviser  of  the  imperial  youth,  who 
had  been  entrusted  to  his  care  by  his  mother,  the  glorious 
Empress  Theophano,  the  deeply  lamented  consort  of  Emperor 
Otto  II  of  Saracenic  renown. 

IS 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

The  door  through  which  he  entered  revealed  a  company  of 
the  imperial  body-guard,  stationed  without,  hi  gilt-mail  tunics, 
armlets  and  greaves,  their  weapon  the  formidable  mace,  sur 
mounted  by  a  sickle-shaped  halberd. 

The  deep  hush,  which  had  fallen  upon  the  assembly  on 
Eckhardt's  entrance  into  the  hall,  had  its  significance.  If  the 
Romans  were  inclined  to  look  with  favour  upon  the  youthful 
son  of  the  Greek  princess,  hi  whose  veins  flowed  the  warm 
blood  of  the  South,  and  whose  sunny  disposition  boded  little 
danger  to  their  jealously  guarded  liberties,  their  sentiments 
toward  the  Saxon  general  had  little  in  common  with  their 
evanescent  enthusiasm  over  the  "  Wonder-child  of  the  World." 
But  if  the  Romans  loved  Eckhardt  little,  Eckhardt  loved  the 
Romans  less,  and  he  made  no  effort  to  conceal  his  contempt  for 
the  mongrel  rabble,  who,  unable  to  govern  themselves,  chafed 
at  every  form  of  government  and  restraint. 

Perhaps  hi  the  countenance  of  none  of  those  assembled  in 
the  hall  of  audience  was  there  reflected  such  intensity  of  sur 
prise  on  beholding  the  great  leader  as  there  was  in  the  face  of 
the  Grand  Chamberlain,  the  olive  tints  of  whose  cheeks  had 
faded  to  ashen  hues.  His  trembling  hands  gripped  the  carved 
back  of  the  nearest  chair,  while  from  behind  the  powerful 
frame  of  the  Patricius  Ziazo  he  gazed  upon  the  countenance 
of  the  Margrave. 

The  latter  had  approached  the  group  of  ecclesiastics,  who 
formed  the  nucleus  round  the  venerable  Archbishop  of  Cre 
mona. 

"  What  tidings  from  the  king  ?  "  queried  the  patriarch 
of  Christendom. 

Eckhardt  knelt  and  kissed  Luitprand's  proffered  hand. 

"  The  Saint  has  worked  a  miracle.  Within  a  fortnight 
Rome  will  once  more  greet  the  King  of  the  Germans." 

Sighs  of  relief  and  mutterings  of  gladness  drowned  the  reply 
of  the  archbishop.  He  was  seen  to  raise  his  hands  hi  silent 

16 


THE  PAGEANT  IN  THE  NAVONA 

prayer,   and   the   deep  hush  returned  anew.     Other  groups 
pushed  eagerly  forward  to  learn  the  import  of  the  tidings. 

The  voice  of  Eckhardt  now  sounded  curt  and  distinct,  as  he 
addressed  Archbishop  Heribert  of  Cologne,  Chancellor  of  the 
Holy  Roman  Empire. 

"  If  the  God  to  whom  you  pray  or  your  patron-saint,  has 
endowed  you  with  the  divine  gift  of  persuasion,  —  use  it  now 
to  prompt  your  king  to  leave  this  accursed  land  and  to  return 
beyond  the  Alps.  Roman  wiles  and  Roman  fever  had  well- 
nigh  claimed  another  victim.  My  resignation  lies  in  the  hands 
of  the  King.  My  mission  here  is  ended.  I  place  your  sovereign 
in  your  hands.  Keep  him  safe.  I  return  to  the  Eastern 
arch." 

Exclamations  of  surprise,  chiefly  from  the  German  element, 
the  Romans  listening  in  sullen  silence,  rose  round  the  com 
mander,  like  a  sullen  squall. 

Eckhardt  waved  them  back  with  uplifted  arm. 

"  The  king  requires  my  services  no  longer.  He  refuses  to 
listen  to  my  counsel!  He  despises  his  own  country.  His  sun 
rises  and  sets  in  Rome.  I  no  longer  have  his  ear.  His  coun 
sellors  are  Romans !  The  war  is  ended.  My  sword  has  grown 
rusty.  Let  another  bear  the  burden !  —  I  return  to  the  Eastern 
March!" 

During  Eckhardt's  speech,  whose  curtness  barely  cloaked 
the  grief  of  the  commander  over  a  step,  which  he  deemed 
irrevocable,  the  pallor  in  the  features  of  the  Grand  Chamber 
lain  had  deepened  and  a  strange  light  shone  in  his  eyes,  as, 
remote  from  the  general's  scrutiny,  he  watched  and  listened. 

The  German  contingent,  however,  was  not  to  be  so  easily 
reconciled  to  Eckhardt's  declaration.  Bernhardt,  the  Saxon 
duke,  Duke  Burkhardt  of  Suabia,  Count  Tassilo  of  Bavaria 
and  Count  Ludeger  of  the  Palatinate  united  their  protests 
against  a  step  so  fatal  in  its  remotest  consequences,  with  the 
result  that  the  Margrave  turned  abruptly  upon  his  heels, 

17 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

strode  from  the  hall  of  audience,  and,  passing  through  the 
rank  and  file  of  the  imperial  guard,  found  himself  on  the  crest 
of  Mount  Aventine. 

Evening  was  falling.  A  solemn  hush  held  enthralled  the 
pulses  of  the  universe.  A  dazzling  glow  of  gold  swept  the 
western  heavens,  and  the  chimes  of  the  Angelus  rang  out  from 
untold  cloisters  and  convents.  To  southward,  the  towering 
summits  of  Soractd  glowed  in  sunset  gold.  The  dazzling 
sheen  reflected  from  the  marble  city  on  the  Palatine  proved 
almost  too  blinding  for  Eckhardt's  gaze,  and  with  quick, 
determined  step,  he  began  his  descent  towards  the  city. 

At  the  base  of  the  hill  his  progress  suffered  a  sudden 
check. 

A  procession,  weird,  strange  and  terrible,  hymning  dirge- 
like  the  words  of  some  solemn  chant,  with  the  eternal  refrain 
"  Miserere !  Miserere !  "  wound  round  the  shores  of  the  Tiber. 
Four  files  of  masked,  black  spectres,  their  heads  engulfed  in 
black  hoods,  wooden  crucifixes  dangling  from  their  necks, 
carrying  torches  of  resin,  from  which  escaped  floods  of  red 
dish  light,  at  times  obscured  by  thick  black  smoke,  marched 
solemnly  behind  a  monk,  whose  features  could  but  vaguely 
be  discerned  in  the  tawny  glare  of  the  funereal  light. 
No  phantom  procession  at  midnight  could  have  inspired  the 
popular  mind  with  a  terror  so  great  as  did  this  brotherhood  of 
Death,  more  terrifying  than  the  later  monks  and  ascetics  of 
Zurbaran,  who  so  paraded  the  frightfulness  of  nocturnal 
visions  in  the  pure,  unobscured  light  of  the  sun.  In  num 
bers  there  were  approximately  four  hundred.  Their  supe 
rior,  a  tall,  gaunt  and  terrible  monk,  escorted  by  his  acolytes, 
held  aloft  a  large  black  crucifix.  A  fanatic  of  the  iron 
type,  whose  austerity  had  won  him  a  wide  ascendency,  the 
monk  Cyprianus,  his  cowl  drawn  deeply  over  his  face,  strode 
before  the  brotherhood.  The  dense  smoke  of  their  torches, 
hanging  motionless  in  the  still  air  of  high  noon,  soon  obscured 

18 


THE  PAGEANT  IN  THE  NAVONA 

the  monks  from  view,  even  before  the  last  echoes  of  their 
sombre  chant  had  died  away. 

Without  a  fixed  purpose  in  his  mind,  save  that  of  observing 
the  temper  of  the  populace,  Eckhardt  permitted  himself  to  be 
swept  along  with  the  crowds.  Idlers  mostly  and  inquisitive 
gapers,  they  constituted  the  characteristic  Roman  mob,  always 
swarming  wherever  there  was  anything  to  be  seen,  however 
trifling  the  cause  and  insignificant  the  attraction.  They  were 
those  who,  not  choosing  to  work,  lived  by  brawls  and  sedition, 
the  descendants  of  that  uproarious  mob,  which  in  the  latter 
days  of  the  empire  filled  the  upper  rows  in  theatre  and  circus, 
the  descendants  of  the  rabble,  whose  suffrage  no  Caesar  was 
too  proud  to  court  in  the  struggle  against  the  free  and  freedom- 
loving  remnants  of  the  aristocracy. 

But  there  were  foreign  elements  which  lent  life  and  contrast 
to  the  picture,  elements  which  in  equal  number  and  profusion 
no  other  city  of  the  time,  save  Constantinople,  could  offer  to 
the  bewildered  gaze  of  the  spectator. 

Moors  from  the  Western  Caliphate  of  Cordova,  Saracens 
from  the  Sicilian  conquest,  mingled  with  white-robed  Bed 
ouins  from  the  desert;  Greeks  from  the  Morea,  Byzantines, 
Epirotes,  Albanians,  Jews,  Danes,  Poles,  Slavs  and  Magyars, 
Lombards,  Burgundians  and  Franks,  Sicilians,  Neapolitans 
and  Venetians,  heightened  by  the  contrast  of  speech,  manner 
and  garb  the  dazzling  kaleidoscopic  effect  of  the  scene,  while 
the  powerful  Northern  veterans  of  the  German  king  thrust 
their  way  with  brutal  contempt  through  the  dregs  of  Romulus. 

After  having  extricated  himself  from  the  motley  throngs, 
Eckhardt,  continuing  his  course  to  southward  and  following 
the  Leonine  wall,  soon  found  himself  in  the  barren  solitudes  of 
Trastevere.  Here  he  slackened  his  pace,  and,  entering  a 
cypress  avenue,  seated  himself  on  a  marble  bench,  a  relic  of 
antiquity,  offering  at  once  shade  and  repose. 

Here  he  fell  into  meditation. 

19 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

Three  years  had  elapsed  since  the  death  of  a  young  and  be 
loved  wife,  who  had  gone  from  him  after  a  brief  but  mysterious 
illness,  baffling  the  skill  of  the  physicians.  In  the  ensuing  solitude 
he  had  acquired  grave  habits  of  reflection.  This  day  he  was  in 
a  more  thoughtful  mood  than  common.  This  day  more  than 
ever,  he  felt  the  void  which  nothing  on  earth  could  fill.  What 
availed  his  toils,  his  love  of  country,  his  endurance  of  hardships  ? 
What  was  he  the  better  now,  in  that  he  had  marched  and 
watched  and  bled  and  twice  conquered  Rome  for  the  empire? 
What  was  this  ambition,  leading  him  up  the  steepest  paths, 
by  the  brinks  of  fatal  precipices?  He  scarcely  knew  now, 
it  was  so  long  ago.  Had  Ginevra  lived,  he  would  indeed  have 
prized  honour  and  renown  and  a  name,  that  was  on  all  men's 
lips.  And  Eckhardt  fell  to  thinking  of  the  bright  days,  when 
the  very  skies  seemed  fairer  for  her  presence.  Time,  who  heals 
all  sorrows,  had  not  alleviated  his  grief.  At  his  urgent  request 
he  had  been  relieved  of  his  Roman  command.  The  very  name 
of  the  city  was  odious  to  him  since  her  death.  Appointed  to 
the  office  of  Great  Warden  of  the  East  and  entrusted  with  the 
defence  of  the  Eastern  border  lands  against  the  ever-recurring 
invasions  of  Bulgarians  and  Magyars,  the  formidable  name  of 
the  conqueror  of  Rome  had  in  time  faded  to  a  mere  memory. 

Not  so  in  the  camp.  Men  said  he  bore  a  charmed  existence, 
and  indeed  his  counsels  showed  the  forethought  and  caution 
of  the  skilled  leader,  while  his  personal  conduct  was  remarkable 
for  a  reckless  disregard  of  danger.  It  was  observed,  though, 
that  a  deep  and  abiding  melancholy  had  taken  possession  of 
the  once  free  and  easy  commander.  Only  under  the  pressure 
of  imminent  danger  did  he  seem  to  brighten  into  his  former 
self.  At  other  times  he  was  silent,  preoccupied.  But  the 
Germans  loved  their  leader.  They  discussed  him  by  their 
watch-fires;  they  marvelled  how  one  so  ready  on  the  field 
was  so  sparing  with  the  wine  cup,  how  the  general  who  could 
stop  to  fill  his  helmet  from  the  running  stream  under  a  storm 

20 


THE  PAGEANT  IN  THE  NAVONA 

of  arrows  and  javelins  and  drink  composedly  with  a  jest  and  a 
smile  could  be  so  backward  at  the  revels. 

In  the  year  996,  Crescentius,  the  Senator  of  Rome  raised  tne 
standards  of  revolt,  expelled  Gregory  the  Fifth  and  nominated 
a  rival  pontiff  in  the  infamous  John  the  Sixteenth.  Otto,  then 
a  mere  youth  of  sixteen  summers,  had  summoned  his  hosts  to 
the  rescue  of  his  friend,  the  rightful  pontiff.  Reluctantly,  and 
only  moved  by  the  tears  of  the  Empress  Theophano,  who 
placed  the  child  king  in  his  care  and  charge,  Eckhardt  had 
resumed  the  command  of  the  invading  army.  Twice  had  he 
put  down  the  rebellion  of  the  Romans,  reducing  Crescentius 
to  the  state  of  a  vassal,  and  meting  out  terrible  punishment 
to  the  hapless  usurper  of  the  tiara.  After  recrossing  the  Alps, 
he  had  once  more  turned  his  attention  to  the  bleak,  sombre 
forests  of  the  North,  when  the  imperial  youth  was  seized  with 
an  unconquerable  desire  to  make  Rome  the  capital  of  the 
empire.  Neither  prayers  nor  persuasions,  neither  the  threats 
of  the  Saxon  dukes  nor  the  protests  of  the  electors  could  shake 
Otto's  indomitable  will.  Eckhardt  was  again  recalled  from  the 
wilds  of  Poland  to  lead  the  German  host  across  the  Alps. 

Meanwhile  increasing  rumours  of  the  impending  End  of  Time 
began  to  upheave  and  disturb  the  minds.  A  mystical  trend  of 
thought  pervaded  the  world,  and  as  the  Millennium  drew 
nearer  and  nearer  pilgrims  of  all  ages  and  all  stages  began  to 
journey  Rome-ward,  to  obtain  forgiveness  for  their  sins,  and 
to  die  within  the  pale  of  the  Church.  At  first  he  resisted  the 
strange  malady  of  the  age,  which  slowly  but  irresistibly  at 
tacked  every  order  of  society.  But  its  morbid  influences, 
seconded  by  the  memory  of  his  past  happiness,  revived  during 
his  last  journey  to  Rome,  at  last  threw  Eckhardt  headlong  into 
the  dark  waves  of  monasticism. 

During  the  present,  to  his  mind,  utterly  purposeless  ex 
pedition,  it  had  seemed  to  Eckhardt  that  there  was  no  other 
salvation  for  the  loneliness  in  his  heart,  save  that  which 

21 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

beamed  from  the  dismal  gloom  of  the  cloister.  At  other  times 
a  mighty  terror  of  the  great  lonesomeness  of  monastic  life 
seized  him.  The  pulses  of  life  began  to  throb  strangely,  surging 
as  a  great  wave  to  his  heart  and  threatening  to  precipitate  him 
anew  into  the  shifting  scenes  of  the  world.  Yet  neither  mood 
endured. 

Ginevra's  image  had  engraved  itself  upon  his  heart  in  lines 
deep  as  those  which  the  sculptors  trace  on  ivory  with  tools 
reddened  with  fire.  Vainly  had  he  endeavoured  to  cloud  its 
memory  by  occupying  his  mind  with  matters  of  state,  for  the 
love  he  felt  for  her,  dead  in  her  grave,  inspired  him  with  secret 
terror.  Blindly  he  was  groping  through  the  labyrinth  for  a 
clue  -  It  is  hard  to  say:  "  Thy  will  be  done." 

Passing  over  the  sharp,  sudden  stroke,  so  numbing  to  his 
senses  at  the  time,  that  a  long  interval  had  to  elapse,  ere  he 
woke  to  its  full  agony;  passing  over  the  subsequent  days  of 
yearning,  the  nights  of  vain  regret,  the  desolation  which  had 
laid  waste  his  life,  —  Eckhardt  pondered  over  the  future. 
There  was  something  ever  wanting  even  to  complete  the  dull 
torpor  of  that  resignation,  which  philosophy  inculcates  and 
common  sense  enjoins.  In  vain  he  looked  about  for  some 
thing  on  which  to  lean,  for  something  which  would  lighten  his 
existence.  The  future  was  cold  and  gray,  and  with  spectral 
fingers  the  memories  of  the  past  seemed  to  point  down  the  dull 
and  cheerless  way.  He  had  lost  himself  in  the  labyrinth  of  life, 
since  her  guiding  hand  had  left  him,  and  now  his  soul  was 
racked  by  conflicting  emotions;  the  desire  for  the  peace  of  a 
recluse,  and  the  longing  for  such  a  life  of  action,  as  should 
temporarily  drown  the  voices  of  anguish  in  his  heart. 

When  he  arose  Rome  was  bathed  in  the  crimson  after  glow 
of  departing  day.  The  Tiber  presented  an  aspect  of  peculiar 
tranquillity.  Hundreds  of  boats  with  many-coloured  sails  and 
fantastically  decorated  prows  stretched  along  the  banks. 
Barges  decorated  with  streamers  and  flags  were  drawn  up 

22 


THE  PAGEANT  IN  THE  NAVONA 

along  the  quays  and  wharfs.  The  massive  gray  ramparts  of 
Castel  San  Angelo  glowed  in  the  rich  colours  of  sunset,  and  high 
in  the  azure  hung  motionless  the  great  standard,  with  the  marble 
horses  and  the  flaming  torch. 

Retracing  his  steps,  Eckhardt  soon  found  himself  in  the 
heart  of  Rome.  An  almost  endless  stream  of  people,  recruiting 
themselves  from  all  clans  and  classes,  flowed  steadily  through 
the  ancient  Via  Sacra.  Equally  dense  crowds  enlivened  the 
Appian  Way  and  the  adjoining  thoroughfares,  leading  to  the 
Forum.  In  the  Navona,  then  enjoying  the  distinction  of  the 
fashionable  promenade  of  the  Roman  nobility,  the  throngs 
were  densest  and  a  vast  array  of  vehicles  from  the  two-wheeled 
chariot  to  the  Byzantine  lectica  thronged  the  aristocratic 
thoroughfare.  Seemingly  interminable  processions  divided 
the  multitudes,  and  the  sombre  and  funereal  chants  of  pilgrims 
and  penitents  resounded  on  every  side. 

Pressing  onward  step  for  step,  Eckhardt  reached  the  arch  of 
Titus;  thence,  leaving  the  fountain  of  Meta  Sudans,  and  the 
vast  ruins  of  the  Flavian  Amphitheatre  to  the  right,  he  turned 
into  the  street  leading  to  the  Caelimontana  Gate,  known  at  this 
date  by  the  name  of  Via  di  San  Giovanni  in  Laterano.  Here 
the  human  congestion  was  somewhat  relieved.  Some  patrician 
chariots  dashed  up  and  down  the  broad  causeway;  graceful 
riders  galloped  along  the  gravelled  road,  while  a  motley  crowd 
of  pedestrians  loitered  leisurely  along  the  sidewalks.  Here  a 
group  of  young  nobles  thronged  round  the  chariot  of  some 
woman  of  rank;  there,  a  grave,  morose-looking  scribe,  an 
advocate  or  notary  in  the  cloister-like  habit  of  his  profession, 
pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd. 

While  slowly  and  aimlessly  Eckhardt  pursued  his  way 
through  the  shifting  crowds,  a  sudden  shout  arose  in  the 
Navona.  After  a  brief  interval  it  was  repeated,  and  soon  a 
strange  procession  came  into  sight,  which,  as  the  German 
leader  perceived,  had  caused  the  acclamation  on  the  part  of 

23 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

the  people.  In  order  to  avoid  the  unwelcome  stare  of  the 
Roman  rabble,  Eckhardt  lowered  his  vizor,  choosing  his  point 
of  observation  upon  some  crumbled  fragment  of  antiquity, 
whence  he  might  not  only  view  the  approaching  pageant,  but 
at  the  same  time  survey  his  surroundings.  On  one  side  were 
the  thronged  and  thickly  built  piles  of  the  ancient  city.  On  the 
opposite  towered  the  Janiculan  hill  with  its  solitary  palaces  and 
immense  gardens.  The  westering  sun  illumined  the  distant 
magnificence  of  the  Vatican  and  suffered  the  gaze  to  expand 
even  to  the  remote  swell  of  the  Apennines. 

The  procession,  which  slowly  wound  its  way  towards  the 
point  where  Eckhardt  had  taken  his  station,  consisted  of  some 
twelve  chariots,  drawn  by  snow-white  steeds,  which  chafed 
at  the  bit,  reared  on  their  haunches,  and  otherwise  betrayed 
their  reluctance  to  obey  the  hands  which  gripped  the  rein  — 
the  hands  of  giant  Africans  in  gaudy,  fantastic  livery. 
The  inmates  of  these  chariots  consisted  of  groups  of  young 
women  hi  the  flower  of  beauty  and  youth,  whose  scant  airy 
garments  gave  them  the  appearance  of  wood-nymphs,  playing 
on  quaintly  shaped  lyres.  While  renewed  shouts  of  applause 
greeted  the  procession  of  the  New  Vestals,  as  they  styled  them 
selves  in  defiance  of  the  trade  they  plied,  and  the  gaze  of  the 
thousands  was  riveted  upon  them,  —  a  new  commotion  arose 
in  the  Navona.  A  shout  of  terror  went  up,  the  crowds  swayed 
backward,  spread  out  and  then  were  seen  to  scatter  on  both 
sides,  revealing  a  chariot,  harnessed  to  a  couple  of  fiery  Berber 
steeds,  which,  having  taken  fright,  refused  to  obey  the  driver's 
grip  and  dashed  down  the  populous  thoroughfare.  With 
every  moment  the  speed  of  the  frightened  animals  increased, 
and  no  hand  was  stretched  forth  from  all  those  thousands  to 
check  their  mad  career.  The  driver,  a  Nubian  in  fantastic 
livery,  had  in  the  frantic  effort  to  stop  their  onward  rush,  been 
thrown  from  his  seat,  striking  his  head  against  a  curb-stone, 
where  he  lay  dazed.  Here  some  were  fleeing,  others  stood 

24 


THE  PAGEANT  IN  THE  NAVONA 

gaping  on  the  steps  of  houses.  Still  others,  with  a  cry  of  warn 
ing  followed  in  the  wake  of  the  fleeting  steeds.  Adding  to  the 
dismay  of  the  lonely  occupant  of  the  chariot,  a  woman,  magnif 
icently  arrayed  in  a  transparent  garb  of  black  gossamer-web, 
embroidered  with  silver  stars,  the  reins  were  dragging  on  the 
ground.  Certain  death  seemed  to  stare  her  in  the  face.  Though 
apprehensive  of  immediate  destruction  she  disdained  to  appeal 
for  assistance,  courting  death  rather  than  owe  her  life  to 
the  despised  mongrel-rabble  of  Rome.  Despite  the  terrific 
speed  of  the  animals  she  managed  to  retain  over  her  face  the 
veil  of  black  gauze,  which  completely  enshrouded  her,  though 
it  revealed  rather  than  concealed  the  magnificent  lines  of  her 
body.  Eckhardt  fixed  his  straining  gaze  upon  the  chariot,  as  it 
approached,  but  the  sun,  whose  flaming  disk  just  then  touched 
the  horizon,  blinded  him  to  a  degree  which  made  it  impossible 
for  him  to  discern  the  features  of  a  face  supremely  fair. 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  the  frightened  steeds  were 
about  to  dash  into  an  adjoining  thoroughfare. 

Breathless  and  spellbound  the  thousands  stared,  yet  there 
was  none  to  risk  his  life  in  the  hazardous  effort  of  stopping  the 
blind  onrush  of  the  maddened  steeds.  Suddenly  they  changed 
their  course  towards  the  point  where,  hemmed  in  by  the  densely 
congested  throngs,  Eckhardt  stood.  Snatching  the  cloak  from 
his  shoulders,  the  Margrave  dashed  through  the  living  wall  of 
humanity  and  leaped  fearlessly  in  the  very  path  of  the  snorting, 
onrushing  steeds.  With  a  dexterous  movement  he  flung  the 
dark  cover  over  their  heads,  escaping  instantaneous  death  only 
by  leaping  quickly  to  one  side.  Then  dashing  at  the  bits  he  suc 
ceeded,  alone  and  unaided,  in  stopping  the  terrified  animals, 
though  dragged  along  for  a  considerable  space.  A  great  shout 
of  applause  went  up  from  the  throats  of  those  who  had  not 
moved  a  hand  to  prevent  the  impending  disaster.  Unmindful 
of  this  popular  outburst,  Eckhardt  held  the  frightened  steeds, 
which  trembled  in  every  muscle  and  gave  forth  ominous  snorts, 

25 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

until  the  driver  staggered  along.  Half  dazed  from  his 
fall  and  bleeding  profusely  from  a  gash  in  the  forehead,  the 
Nubian,  almost  frightened  out  of  his  wits,  seized  the  lines  and 
resumed  his  seat.  The  steeds,  knowing  the  accustomed  hand, 
gradually  quieted  down. 

At  the  moment,  when  Eckhardt  turned,  to  gain  a  glimpse  of 
the  occupant  of  the  chariot,  a  shriek  close  by  caused  him  to  turn 
his  head.  The  procession  of  the  New  Vestals  had  come  to  a 
sudden  stand-still,  owing  to  the  blocking  of  the  thoroughfare, 
through  which  the  runaway  steeds  had  dashed,  the  clearing 
behind  them  having  been  quickly  filled  up  with  a  human  wall. 
During  this  brief  pause  some  individual,  the  heraldry  of  whose 
armour  denoted  him  a  Roman  baron,  had  pounced  upon  one  of 
the  chariots  and  seized  one  of  its  scantily  clad  occupants. 
The  girl  had  uttered  a  shriek  of  dismay  and  was  struggling  to 
free  herself  from  the  ruffian's  clutches,  while  her  companions 
vainly  remonstrated  with  her  assailant.  To  hear  the  shriek, 
to  turn,  to  recognize  the  cause,  and  to  pounce  upon  the  Roman, 
were  acts  almost  of  the  same  moment  to  Eckhardt.  Clutching 
the  girl's  assailant  by  the  throat,  without  knowing  in  whose 
defence  he  was  entering  the  contest,  he  thundered  in  accents 
of  such  unmistakable  authority,  as  to  give  him  little  doubt  of 
the  alternative :  "  Let  her  go !  " 

With  a  terrible  oath,  Gian  Vitelozzo  released  his  victim, 
who  quickly  remounted  her  chariot,  and  turned  upon  his 
assailant. 

"  Who  in  the  name  of  the  foul  fiend  are  you,  to  interfere 
with  my  pleasure?  "  he  roared,  almost  beside  himself  with  rage 
as  he  perceived  his  prey  escaping  his  grasp. 

Through  his  closed  visor,  Eckhardt  regarded  the  noblemen 
with  a  contempt  which  the  latter  instinctively  felt,  for  he  paled 
even  ere  his  antagonist  spoke.  Then  approaching  the  baron, 
Eckhardt  whispered  one  word  into  his  ear.  Vitelozzo 's  cheeks 
turned  to  leaden  hues  and,  trembling  like  a  whipped  cur,  he 

26 


THE  PAGEANT  IN  THE  NAVONA 

slunk  away.  The  crowds,  upon  witnessing  the  noble's  dismay, 
broke  into  loud  cheers,  some  even  went  so  far  as  to  kiss  the  hem 
of  Eckhardt's  mantle. 

Shaking  himself  free  of  the  despised  rabble  whose  numbers 
had  been  a  hundred  times  sufficient  to  snatch  his  prey  from 
Vitelozzo  and  his  entire  clan,  Eckhardt  continued  upon  his 
way,  wondering  whom  he  had  saved  from  certain  death,  and 
whom,  as  he  thought,  from  dishonour.  The  procession  of 
the  New  Vestals  had  disappeared  in  the  haze  of  the  distance. 
Of  the  chariot  and  its  mysterious  inmate  not  a  trace  was  to  be 
seen.  Without  heeding  the  comments  upon  his  bravery, 
unconscious  that  two  eyes  had  followed  his  every  step,  since  he 
left  the  imperial  palace,  Eckhardt  slowly  proceeded  upon  his 
way,  until  he  found  himself  at  the  base  of  the  Palatine. 


CHAPTER  III 


ON  THE  PALATINE 

HE  moon  was  rising  over  the 
distant  Alban  hills,  when  Eck- 
hardt  began  his  ascent.  Now  and 
then,  he  paused  on  a  spot,  which 
offered  a  particularly  striking 
view  of  the  city,  reposing  in  the 
fading  light  of  day.  No  sound 
broke  the  solemn  stillness,  save 
the  tolling  of  convent-bells  on 
remote  Aventine,  or  the  sombre 
chant  of  pilgrims  before  some  secluded  shrine. 

Like  the  ghost  of  her  former  self,  Rome  seemed  to  stretch 
interminably  into  the  ever  deepening  purple  haze. 

Colossal  watch-towers,  four-cornered,  massive,  with  twin- 
like  steeples  and  crenelated  ramparts,  dominated  the  view  on 
all  sides.  Their  shadows  fell  afar  from  one  to  another.  Here 
and  there,  conspicuous  among  the  houses,  loomed  up  the 
wondrous  structures  of  old  Rome,  sometimes  singly,  sometimes 
in  thickly  set  groups.  Beyond  the  walls  the  aqueducts  pursued 
their  Icng  and  sinuous  path-ways  through  the  Campagna. 
The  distant  Alban  hills  began  to  shroud  their  undulating 
summits  in  the  slowly  rising  mists  of  evening. 

What  a  stupendous  desolation  time  had  wrought! 

As  he  slowly  proceeded  up  the  hill,  Eckhardt  beheld  the 

Palatine's  enormous  structures  crumbled  to  ruin.     The  high- 

spanned  vaulted  arches  and  partitions  still  rested  on  their  firm 

foundations  of  Tophus  stone,  their  ruined  roofs  supported  by 

28 


ON    THE   PALATINE 

massive  pillars,  broken,  pierced  and  creviced.  Resplendent  in 
the  last  glow  of  departing  day  towered  high  the  imperial 
palaces  of  Augustus,  Tiberius  and  Domitian.  The  Septizonium 
of  Alexander  Severus,  still  well  preserved  in  its  seven  stories, 
had  been  converted  into  a  feudal  stronghold  by  Alberic,  chief 
of  the  Optimates,  while  Caligula's  great  piles  of  stone  rose  high 
and  dominating  in  the  evening  air.  The  Jovian  temples  were 
still  standing  close  to  the  famous  tomb  of  Romulus,  but  the  old 
triumphal  course  was  obstructed  with  filth.  In  crescent  shape 
here  and  there  a  portico  was  visible,  shadeless  and  long  de 
prived  of  roofing.  High  towered  the  Coliseum's  stately  ruins ; 
Circus  and  Stadium  were  overgrown  with  bushes ;  of  the  baths 
of  Diocletian  and  Caracalla,  once  magnificent  and  imposing, 
only  ruins  remained.  Crumbling,  weatherbeaten  masonry 
confronted  the  eye  on  every  turn.  Endless  seemed  the  tangled 
maze  of  crooked  lanes,  among  which  loomed  a  temple-gable 
green  with  moss  or  a  solitary  column;  an  architrave  resting 
on  marble  columns,  looked  down  upon  the  huts  of  poverty. 
Nero's  golden  palace  and  the  Basilica  of  Maxentius  lay  in 
ruins;  but  in  the  ancient  Forum  temples  were  still  standing, 
their  slender  columns  pointing  to  the  skies  with  their  ornate 
Corinthian  capitals. 

The  Rome  of  the  Millennium  was  indeed  but  the  phantom 
of  her  own  past.  On  all  sides  the  eye  was  struck  with  inex 
orable  decay.  Where  once  triumphal  arches,  proud,  erect, 
witnessed  pomp  and  power,  crumbling  piles  alone  recorded 
the  memory  of  a  glorious  past.  Great  fragments  strewed  the 
virgin-soil  of  the  Via  Sacra  from  the  splendid  arch  of  Con- 
stantine  to  the  Capitol.  The  Roman  barons  had  turned  the 
old  Roman  buildings  into  castles.  The  Palatine  and  the  ad 
joining  Coelian  hill  were  now  lorded  over  by  the  powerful 
house  of  the  Pierleoni.  Crescentius,  the  Senator  of  Rome, 
claimed  Pompey's  theatre  and  the  Mausoleum  of  the  Emperor 
Hadrian,  Castel  San  Angelo;  in  the  waste  fields  of  Campo 

29 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

Marzio  the  Cavalli  had  seized  the  Mausoleum  of  Augustus; 
the  Aventine  was  claimed  by  the  Romani  and  Stef  aneschi ;  the 
Stadium  of  Domitian  by  the  Massimi.  In  the  Fora  of  Trajan 
and  Nerva  the  Conti  had  ensconced  themselves;  the  theatre 
of  Marcellus  was  held  by  the  Caetani  and  the  Guidi  ruled  in 
the  tomb  of  Metellus. 

There  was  an  inexpressible  charm  in  the  sadness  of  this 
desolation  which  chimed  strangely  with  Eckhardt's  own  We, 
now  but  a  memory  of  its  former  self. 

It  was  a  wonderful  night.  Scarce  a  breath  of  air  stirred  the 
dying  leaves.  The  vault  of  the  sky  was  unobscured,  arching 
deep-blue  over  the  higher  rising  moon.  To  southward  the 
beacon  fires  from  the  Tor  di  Vergera  blazed  like  a  red  star  low 
down  in  the  horizon.  Wrapt  in  deep  thought,  Eckhardt  followed 
the  narrow  road,  winding  his  way  through  a  wilderness  of 
broken  arches  and  fallen  porticoes,  through  a  region  studded 
with  convents,  cloisters  and  the  ruins  of  antiquity.  Gray  mists 
began  to  rise  over  housetops  and  vineyards,  through  which  at 
intervals  the  Tiber  gleamed  like  a  yellow  serpent  in  the  moon 
light.  Near  the  Ripetta  long  spirals  of  dark  smoke  curled  up 
to  the  azure  night-sky  and  the  moon  cast  a  glory  on  the  colossal 
statue  of  the  Archangel  Michael,  where  it  stood  on  the  gloomy 
keep  of  Castel  San  Angelo.  The  rising  night-wind  rustled  in 
organ-tones  among  the  cypress  trees ;  the  fountains  murmured, 
and  in  a  silvery  haze  the  moon  hung  over  the  slumbering 
city. 

Slowly  Eckhardt  continued  the  ascent  of  the  Palatine  and 
he  had  scarcely  reached  the  summit,  when  out  of  the  ruins 
there  rose  a  shadow,  and  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
Benilo,  the  Grand  Chamberlain. 

"  By  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  and  all  the  saints  I  can  re 
member!  "  exclaimed  the  latter,  "is  it  Eckhardt,  the  Mar 
grave,  or  his  ghost  ?  But  no  matter  which,  —  no  man  more 
welcome ! " 

30 


ON    THE    PALATINE 

"  I  am  but  myself,"  replied  Eckhardt,  as  he  grasped  the 
proffered  hand. 

"  Little  did  I  hope  to  meet  you  here,"  Benilo  continued, 
regarding  Eckhardt  intently.  "  I  thought  you  far  away 
among  the  heathen  Poles." 

"  I  hate  the  Romans  so  heartily,  that  now  and  then  I  love 
to  remind  them  of  my  presence." 

"  Ay!  Like  Timon  of  Athens,  you  would  bequeath  to  them 
your  last  fig-tree,  that  they  may  hang  themselves  from  its 
branches,"  Benilo  replied  with  a  smile. 

"  I  should  require  a  large  orchard.    Is  Rome  at  peace?  " 

"  The  burghers  wrangle  about  goats'  wool,  the  monks 
gamble  for  a  human  soul,  and  the  devil  stands  by  and  watches 
the  game,"  replied  Benilo. 

"  Have  you  surprised  any  strange  rumours  during  my  ab 
sence  ?  "  questioned  Eckhardt  guardedly. 

"  They  say  much  or  little,  as  you  will,"  came  the  enigmatic 
reply.  "  I  have  heard  your  name  from  the  lips  of  one,  who 
seldom  speaks,  save  to  ill  purpose." 

Eckhardt  nodded  with  a  grim  smile,  while  he  fixed  his  eyes 
on  his  companion.  Slowly  they  lost  themselves  in  the  wilder 
ness  of  crumbling  arches  and  porticoes. 

At  last  Eckhardt  spoke,  a  strange  mixture  of  mirth  and 
irony  hi  his  tones. 

"  But  your  own  presence  among  these  rums  ?  Has  Benilo, 
the  Grand  Chamberlain  become  a  recluse,  dwelling  among 
flitter  mice  and  jack-daws  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  sipped  from  the  fount  of  the  mystics,"  Benilo 
replied.  "  But  often  at  the  hour  of  dusk  I  seek  the  solitudes  of 
the  Palatine,  which  chime  so  strangely  with  my  weird  fancies. 
Here  I  may  roam  at  will  and  without  restraint,  —  here  I  may 
revel  in  the  desolation,  enlivened  only  now  and  then  by  the 
shrill  tones  of  a  shepherd's  pipe;  here  I  may  ramble  undis 
turbed  among  the  ruins  of  antiquity,  pondering  over  the 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

ancient  greatness  of  Rome,  pondering  over  the  mighty  that 
have  fallen.  —  I  have  just  completed  an  Ode  —  all  but  the 
final  stanzas.  It  is  to  greet  Otto  upon  his  return.  The  Arch 
bishop  of  Cologne  announced  the  welcome  tidings  of  the 
king's  convalescence  —  truly,  a  miracle  of  the  saint!  " 

Eckhardt  had  listened  attentively,  then  he  remarked  drily: 

"  Let  each  man  take  his  own  wisdom  and  see  whither  it  will 
lead  him.  Otto  is  still  pursuing  a  mocking  phantom  under  the 
ruins  of  crumbled  empires,  but  to  find  the  bleached  bones  of 
some  long-forgotten  Caesar !  Truly,  a  worthy  cause,  in  which 
to  brave  the  danger  of  Alpine  snows  and  avalanches  —  and 
the  fever  of  the  Maremmas." 

"  We  both  try  to  serve  the  King  —  each  in  his  way,"  Benilo 
replied,  contritely. 

Eckhardt  extended  his  hand. 

"  You  are  a  poet  and  a  philosopher.  I  am  a  soldier  and  a  Ger 
man.  —  I  have  wronged  you  in  thought  —  forgive  and  forget !  " 

Benilo  readily  placed  his  hand  in  that  of  his  companion. 
After  a  pause  Eckhardt  continued: 

"  My  business  in  Rome  touches  neither  emperor  nor  pope. 
Once,  I  too,  wooed  the  fair  Siren  Rome.  But  the  Siren  proved  a 
Vampire.  —  Rome  is  a  charnel  house.  —  Her  caress  is  Death." 

There  was  a  brief  silence. 

"  'Tis  three  years  since  last  we  strode  these  walks,"  Eck 
hardt  spoke  again.  "  What  changes  time  has  wrought!  " 

"  Have  the  dead  brought  you  too  back  to  Rome?  "  queried 
Benilo  with  averted  gaze. 

"  Even  so,"  Eckhardt  replied,  as  he  strode  by  Benilo's 
side.  "  The  dead !  Soon  I  too  shall  exchange  the  garb  of  the 
world  for  that  of  the  cloister." 

The  Chamberlain  stared  aghast  at  his  companion. 

"  You  are  not  serious  ?  "  he  stammered,  with  well-feigned 
surprise. 

Eckhardt  nodded. 

32 


ON    THE    PALATINE 

"  The  past  is  known  to  you !  "  he  replied  with  a  heavy  sigh. 
"  Since  she  has  gone  from  me  to  the  dark  beyond,  I  have 
striven  for  peace  and  oblivion  in  every  form,  —  in  the  turmoil 
of  battle,  before  the  shrines  of  the  Saints.  —  In  vain !  I  have 
striven  to  tame  this  wild  passion  for  one  dead  and  in  her  grave. 
But  this  love  cannot  be  strangled  as  a  lion  is  strangled,  and  the 
skill  of  the  mightiest  athlete  avails  nothing  in  such  a  struggle. 
The  point  of  the  arrow  has  remained  in  the  wound.  Madness, 
to  wander  for  ever  about  a  grave,  to  think  eternally,  fatefully 
of  one  who  cannot  see  you,  cannot  hear  you,  one  who  has  left 
earth  in  all  the  beauty  and  splendour  of  youth." 

A  pause  ensued,  during  which  neither  spoke. 

They  walked  for  some  time  in  silence  among  the  gigantic 
ruins  of  the  Palatine.  Like  an  alabaster  lamp  the  moon  hung 
in  the  luminous  vault  of  heaven.  How  peacefully  fair  beneath 
the  star-sprinkled  violet  sky  was  this  deserted  region,  bordered 
afar  by  tall,  spectral  cypress-trees  whose  dark  outlines  were 
clearly  defined  against  the  mellow  luminance  of  the  ether. 
At  last  Eckhardt  and  his  companion  seated  themselves  on  the 
ruins  of  a  shattered  portico,  which  had  once  formed  the  en 
trance  to  a  temple  of  Saturnus. 

Each  seemed  to  be  occupied  with  his  own  thoughts,  when 
Eckhardt  raised  his  head  and  gazed  inquiringly  at  his  com 
panion,  who  had  likewise  assumed  a  listening  attitude. 
Through  the  limpid  air  of  the  autumnal  night,  like  faint 
echoes  from  dream-land,  there  came  softly  vibrating  harp- 
tones,  mingled  with  the  clash  of  tinkling  cymbals,  borne  aloft 
from  distant  groves.  Faint  ringing  chimes,  as  of  silver  bells, 
succeeded  these  broken  harmonies,  followed  by  another  clash 
of  cymbals,  stormily  persistent,  then  dying  away  on  the  evanes 
cent  breezes. 

A  strange,  stifling  sensation  oppressed  Eckhardt's  heart,  as 
he  listened  to  these  bells.  They  seemed  to  remind  him  of 
things  which  had  long  passed  out  of  his  life,  the  peaceful 

33 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

village-chimes  in  his  far-away  Saxon  land,  the  brief  dream  of 
the  happy  days  now  for  ever  gone.  But  hark !  had  he  not  heard 
these  sounds  before?  Had  they  not  caressed  his  ears  on  the 
night,  when  accompanying  the  king  from  Aix-la-Chapelle 
to  Merse"burg,  they  passed  the  fateful  Hoerselberg  in  Thuringia? 

Eckhardt  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  but  the  question 
rising  to  his  lips  was  anticipated  by  Benilo,  who  pointed 
towards  a  remote  region  of  the  Aventine,  just  as  the  peals  of 
the  chiming  bells,  softened  by  distance  into  indistinct  tremulous 
harmonies,  and  the  clarion  clearness  of  the  cymbals  again 
smote  the  stillness  with  their  strangely  luring  clangour. 

"  Yonder  lies  the  palace  of  Theodora,"  Benilo  remarked 
indifferently. 

Eckhardt  listened  with  a  strange  sensation. 

He  remembered  the  pageant  he  had  witnessed  in  the  Navona, 
the  pageant,  from  whose  more  minute  contemplation  he  had 
been  drawn  by  the  incident  with  Gian  Vitelozzo. 

"  Who  is  the  woman  ?  "  he  questioned  with  some  show  of 
interest. 

"  Regarding  that  matter  there  is  considerable  speculation," 
replied  Benilo. 

"  Have  you  any  theory  of  your  own  ?  " 

The  Chamberlain  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Heard  you  ever  of  a  remote  descendant  of  Marozia,  still 
living  in  Italy  ?  " 

"  I  thought  they  had  all  been  strangled  long  ago." 

"  But  if  there  were  one,  deem  you,  that  the  harlot-blood 
which  flowed  in  the  veins  of  her  mother  and  all  the  women  of 
her  house  would  be  sanctified  by  time,  a  damp  convent-cell, 
and  a  rosary  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  of  a  surviving  limb  of  that  lightning- 
blasted  trunk." 

"  Did  not  the  direct  line  of  Marozia  end  with  John  XI, 
whom  she  succeeded  in  placing  in  the  chair  of  St.  Peter,  ere 

34 


ON    THE    PALATINE 

she  herself  was  banished  to  a  convent,  where  she  died  ?  " 
questioned  Benilo. 

"  So  it  is  reported !    And  this  woman's  name  is  ?  " 

"Theodora!" 

"  You  know  her  ?  " 

Benilo  met  Eckhardt's  gaze  unflinchingly. 

"  I  have  visited  her  circle,"  he  replied  indifferently. 

Eckhardt  nodded.     He  understood. 

Dexterously  changing  the  subject  Benilo  continued  after 
a  pause. 

"  If  you  had  but  some  heart-felt  passion,  to  relieve  your 
melancholy;  if  you  could  but  love  somebody  or  something,"  he 
spoke  sympathetically.  "  Truly,  it  was  never  destined  for  the 
glorious  career  of  Eckhardt  to  end  behind  the  bleak  walls  of  a 
cloister." 

Eckhardt  bowed  his  head. 

"  Philosophy  is  useless.  Strange  ailments  require  strange 
cures." 

For  some  time  they  gazed  in  silence  into  the  moonlit  night. 
Around  them  towered  colossal  relics  of  ancient  grandeur, 
shattered  walls,  naked  porticoes.  Wildernesses  of  broken 
arches  stretched  interminably  into  the  bluish  haze,  amidst 
woods  and  wild  vegetation,  which  had  arisen  as  if  to  reassert 
their  ancient  possessions  of  the  deserted  site. 

At  last  Eckhardt  spoke,  hesitatingly  at  first,  as  one  testing 
his  ground,  gradually  with  firmer  purpose,  which  seemed  to 
go  straight  to  the  heart  of  his  companion. 

"  There  is  much  about  Ginevra's  sudden  death  that  puzzles 
me,  a  mystery  which  I  have  in  vain  endeavoured  to  fathom. 
The  facts  are  known  to  you,  I  can  pass  them  over,  dark  as 
everything  seems  to  me  at  this  very  moment.  So  quickly,  so 
mysteriously  did  she  pass  out  of  my  life,  that  I  could  not,  would 
not  trust  the  testimony  of  my  senses.  I  left  the  house  on  the 
Caelian  hill  on  that  fateful  night,  and  though  I  felt  as  if  my 

35 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

eyes  were  bursting  from  my  head,  they  did  not  shed  a  single 
tear.  Where  I  went,  or  what  I  did,  I  could  not  tell.  I  walked 
about,  as  one  benumbed,  dazed,  as  it  sometimes  happens, 
when  the  cleaving  stroke  of  an  iron  mace  falls  upon  one's 
helmet,  deafening  and  blinding.  This  I  remember  —  I  passed 
the  bridge  near  the  tower  of  Nona  and,  ascending  the  Borgo, 
made  for  the  gate  of  San  Sebastian.  The  monks  of  Delia 
Regola  soon  appeared,  walking  two  by  two,  accompanied  by 
a  train  of  acolytes,  chanting  the  Miserere,  and  bearing  the 
coffin  covered  with  a  large  pall  of  black  velvet." 

Eckhardt  paused,  drawing  a  deep  breath.  Then  he  continued, 
slowly : 

"  All  this  did  not  rouse  me  from  the  lethargy  which  had 
benumbed  my  senses.  Only  the  one  thought  possessed  me: 
Since  we  had  been  severed  in  life,  in  death  at  least  we  could  be 
united.  We  were  both  journeying  to  the  same  far-off  land, 
and  the  same  tomb  would  give  us  repose  together.  I  followed 
the  monks  with  a  triumphant  but  gloomy  joy,  feeling  myself 
already  transported  beyond  the  barriers  of  life.  Ponte  Sisto 
and  Trastevere  passed,  we  entered  San  Pancrazio." 

There  was  another  pause,  Benilo  listening  intently. 

"  The  body  placed  hi  the  chapel,  prior  to  the  performance  of 
the  last  rites,"  Eckhardt  continued,  "  I  hurried  away  from  the 
place  and  wandered  all  night  round  the  streets  like  a  madman, 
ready  to  seek  my  own  destruction.  But  the  hand  of  Providence 
withheld  me  from  the  crime.  I  cannot  describe  what  I  suffered ; 
the  agony,  the  despair,  that  wrung  my  inmost  heart.  I  could 
no  longer  support  a  life  that  seemed  blighted  with  the  curse  of 
heaven,  and  I  formed  the  wildest  plans,  the  maddest  resolutions 
in  my  whirling  brain.  For  a  strange,  terrible  thought  had  sud 
denly  come  over  me.  I  could  not  believe  that  Ginevra  was 
dead.  And  the  longer  I  pondered,  the  greater  became  my 
anxiety  and  fear.  Late  in  the  night  I  returned  to  the  chapel. 
I  knelt  in  the  shadow  of  the  vaulted  arches,  leaning  against 

36 


ON    THE    PALATINE 

the  wall,  while  the  monks  chanted  the  Requiem.  I  heard  the 
'  Requiescat  in  Pace,'  I  saw  them  leave  the  chapel,  but  I 
remained  alone  in  the  darkness,  for  there  was  no  lamp  save  the 
lamp  of  the  Virgin.  At  this  moment  a  bell  tolled.  The  sacristan 
who  was  making  the  rounds  through  the  church,  preparatory 
to  closing,  passed  by  me.  He  saw  me,  without  recognizing 
who  I  was,  and  said :  '  I  close  the  doors.'  '  I  shall  remain,'  I 
answered.  He  regarded  me  fixedly,  then  said :  'You  are  bold! 
I  will  leave  the  door  ajar  —  stay,  if  you  will !  '  And  without 
speaking  another  word  he  was  out.  I  paid  little  heed  to  him, 
though  his  words  had  strangely  stirred  me.  What  did  he  mean  ? 
After  a  few  moments  my  reasoning  subsided,  but  my  deter 
mination  grew  with  my  fear.  Everything  being  still  as  the 
grave,  I  approached  the  coffin,  cold  sweat  upon  my  brow. 
Removing  the  pall  which  covered  it,  I  drew  my  dagger  which 
was  strong  and  sharp,  intending  to  force  open  the  lid,  when 
suddenly  I  felt  a  stinging,  benumbing  pain  on  my  head,  as 
from  the  blow  of  a  cudgel.  How  long  I  lay  unconscious,  I 
know  not.  When  after  some  days  I  woke  from  the  swoon,  the 
monks  had  raised  a  heavy  stone  over  Ginevra's  grave,  during 
the  night  of  my  delirium.  I  left  Rome,  as  I  thought,  for  ever. 
But  strange  misgivings  began  to  haunt  my  sleep  and  my  waking 
hours.  Why  had  they  not  permitted  me  to  see  once  more  the 
face  I  had  so  dearly  loved,  ere  they  fastened  down  for  ever  the 
lid  of  the  coffin?  'Tis  true,  they  contended  that  the  ravages  of 
the  fever  to  which  she  had  succumbed  had  precipitated  the 
decomposition  of  her  body.  Still  —  the  more  I  ponder  over  her 
death,  the  more  restless  grows  my  soul.  Thus  I  returned  to 
Rome,  even  against  my  own  wish  and  will.  I  will  not  tarry 
long.  Perchance  some  light  may  beam  on  the  mystery  which 
has  terrified  my  dreams,  from  a  source,  least  expected,  though 
so  far  I  have  in  vain  sought  for  the  monk  who  conducted  the 
last  rites,  and  whose  eyes  saw  what  was  denied  to  mine." 
There  was  a  dead  silence,  which  lasted  for  a  space,  until  it 

37 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

grew  almost  painful  in  its  intensity.  At  last  Benilo 
spoke. 

"  To  return  to  the  night  of  her  interment.  Was  there  no 
one  near  you,  to  dispel  those  dread  phantoms  which  maddened 
your  brain  ?  " 

"  I  had  suffered  no  one  to  remain.  I  wished  to  be  alone  with 
my  grief." 

"  But  whence  the  blow  ?  " 

"  The  masons  had  wrenched  away  an  iron  bar,  in  walling 
up  the  old  entrance.  Had  the  height  been  greater,  I  would 
not  be  here  to  tell  the  tale." 

Benilo  drew  a  deep  breath.    He  was  ghastly  pale. 

"  But  your  purpose  in  Rome?  " 

"  I  will  find  the  monk  who  conducted  the  last  rites  —  I  will 
have  speech  with  Nilus,  the  hermit.  If  all  else  fails,  the  cloister 
still  remains." 

"  Let  me  entreat  you  not  to  hasten  the  irrevocable  step. 
Neither  your  king  nor  your  country  can  spare  their  illustrious 
leader." 

"  Otto  has  made  his  peace  with  Rome.  He  has  no  further 
need  of  me,"  Eckhardt  replied  with  bitterness.  "  But  this  I 
promise.  I  shall  do  nothing,  until  I  have  had  speech  with  the 
holy  hermit  of  Gaeta.  Whatever  he  shall  enjoin,  thereby  will 
I  abide.  I  shall  do  nothing  hastily,  or  ill-advised." 

They  continued  for  a  time  in  silence,  each  wrapt  in  his  own 
thoughts.  Without  one  ray  of  light  beaming  on  his  course, 
Eckhardt  beheld  a  thousand  vague  and  shadowy  images 
passing  before  his  eyes.  That  subterranean  love,  so  long 
crouched  at  his  soul's  stairway,  had  climbed  a  few  steps 
higher,  guided  by  some  errant  gleam  of  hope.  The  weight  of 
the  impossible  pressed  no  longer  so  heavily  upon  him,  since  he 
had  lightened  his  burden  by  the  long  withheld  confession. 
The  vertigo  of  fatality  had  seized  him.  By  a  succession  of 
irregular  and  terrrible  events  he  believed  himself  hurried  to- 

38 


ON    THE    PALATINE 

wards  the  end  of  his  goal.  A  mighty  wave  had  lifted  him  up 
and  bore  him  onward. 

"  Whither  ?  " 

From  the  distance,  borne  aloft  on  the  wings  of  the  night- 
wind,  came  faintly  the  chant  of  pilgrims  from  secluded  shrines 
on  the  roadway.  Eckhardt's  mind  was  made  up.  He  would 
seek  Nilus,  the  hermit.  Perchance  he  would  point  out  to  him 
the  road  to  peace  and  set  at  rest  the  dread  misgivings,  which 
tortured  him  beyond  endurance.  This  boon  obtained,  what 
mattered  all  else?  The  End  of  Time  was  nigh.  It  would  solve 
all  mysteries  which  the  heart  yearned  to  know. 

And  while  Benilo  seemed  to  muse  in  silence  over  the  strange 
tale  which  his  companion  had  poured  into  his  ear,  the  latter 
weighed  a  resolve  which  he  dared  not  even  breathe,  much  less 
confide  to  human  ear.  Truly,  the  task  required  of  Nilus  was 
great. 

At  last  Eckhardt  and  Benilo  parted  for  the  night.  Eckhardt 
went  his  way,  pondering,  and  wondering  what  the  morrow 
would  bring,  and  Benilo  returned  among  the  ruins  of  the 
Palatine,  where  he  remained  seated  for  a  time,  staring  up  at 
the  starry  night-sky,  as  if  it  contained  the  solution  of  all 
that  was  dark  and  inscrutable  in  man's  existence. 


39 


CHAPTER  IV 


THE  WANTON  COURT  OF  THEODORA 

STRANGE  restlessness  had  seized 
the  Chamberlain,  after  his  meet 
ing  with  the  German  com 
mander.  The  moon  illumined 
the  desolate  region  with  her 
white  beams,  dividing  the  silent 
avenues  into  double  edged  lines 
of  silvery  white,  and  bluish 
shadows.  The  nocturnal  day 
with  its  subdued  tints  disguised 
and  mantled  the  desolation.  The  mutilated  columns, 
the  roofs,  crumbled  beneath  the  torrents  and  thunders 
of  centuries,  were  less  conspicuous  than  when  seen  in  the 
clear,  merciless  light  of  the  sun.  The  lost  parts  were 
completed  by  the  half  tints  of  shadows;  only  here  and  there 
a  brusque  beam  of  light  marked  the  spot,  where  a  whole  edifice 
had  crumbled  away.  The  silent  genii  of  Night  seemed  to  have 
repaired  the  ancient  city  to  some  representation  of  fantastic 
life. 

As  he  hurried  along  the  slopes  of  the  hill,  Benilo  fancied  at 
times  that  he  beheld  vague  forms,  lurking  in  the  shadows; 
but  they  seemed  to  vanish  the  moment  he  approached.  Low 
whisperings,  an  undefined  hum,  floated  through  the  silence. 
First  he  attributed  the  noises  to  a  fluttering  in  his  ears,  to  the 
sighing  of  the  night-wind  or  to  the  flight  of  some  snake  or 
lizard  through  the  nettles.  In  nature  all  things  live,  even 

40 


WANTON  COURT  OF  THEODORA 

death;  all  things  make  themselves  heard,  even  silence.  Never 
before  had  Benilo  felt  such  an  involuntary  terror.  Once  or 
twice  he  precipitately  changed  his  course,  hurrying  down 
some  narrow  lane,  between  desolate  looking  rows  of  houses, 
low  and  ill-favoured,  whose  inmates  recruited  themselves  from 
the  lowest  types  of  the  mongrel  population  of  Rome. 

At  the  Agrippina  below  the  bridge  of  Nero  he  paused  and 
gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  The  phantoms  seemed  to  have  vanished. 
No  breath  of  life  broke  the  stillness.  As  on  a  second  Olympus 
the  marble  palaces  of  the  Caesars  towered  on  the  summit  of  the 
Capitoline  hill,  glistening  white  in  the  ghostly  moonlight. 
Below,  the  Tiber  sent  his  sluggish  waves  down  toward  Ostia, 
rocking  the  fleet  of  numberless  boats  and  barges  which  swung 
lazily  at  their  moorings. 

Benilo  found  himself  in  a  quarter  of  Rome  which  had  been 
abandoned  for  centuries.  Ruins  of  temples  and  porticoes 
were  strewn  in  the  waste  which  he  traversed.  Here  at  least 
he  could  breathe  more  freely.  No  one  was  likely  to  surprise 
his  presence  in  these  solitudes.  The  superstition  of  the  age 
prevented  the  Romans  from  frequenting  the  vale  between 
Mounts  Aventine  and  Testaccio  after  dark,  for  it  was  believed 
to  be  the  abode  of  evil  spirits. 

As  the  Chamberlain  made  his  way  through  the  wilderness  of 
fallen  columns,  shattered  porticoes,  and  tangles  of  myrrh  and 
acanthus,  the  faint  clash  of  cymbals,  like  the  echo  of  some 
distant  bacchanalia,  fell  upon  his  ear.  A  strange  fitful  melody, 
rising  and  falling  with  weird  thrilling  cadence,  was  borne  upon 
the  perfumed  breezes. 

He  had  not  advanced  very  far,  when  through  an  avenue  of 
tall  spectral  cypress  trees  he  emerged  upon  a  smooth  and  level 
lawn,  shut  in  by  black  groups  of  cedar,  through  the  entwined 
branches  of  which  peeped  the  silver  moon. 

Traversing  a  broad  marble  terrace,  garlanded  with  a  golden 
wealth  of  orange  trees  and  odorous  oleanders,  Benilo  approached 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

a  lofty  building,  surrounded  at  some  distance  by  a  wall  of  the 
height  of  half -grown  palms.  A  great  gate  stood  ajar,  which 
appeared  to  be  closely  guarded.  Leaning  against  one  of  the 
massive  pillars  which  supported  it,  stood  an  African  of  giant 
stature,  hi  scarlet  tunic  and  white  turban,  who,  turning  his 
gleaming  eyeballs  on  Benilo,  nodded  by  way  of  salutation. 
Entering  the  forbidden  grounds,  the  Chamberlain  found  himself 
in  a  spacious  garden  which  he  traversed  with  quick,  elastic 
step,  as  one  familiar  with  the  locality. 

As  Benilo  advanced  under  the  leafy  branches,  swaying  in 
melancholy  relief  against  the  blue-green  sky,  the  sight  of 
thousands  of  coloured  lamps  hanging  hi  long  festoons  from 
tree  to  tree  first  caused  him  to  start  and  to  look  about.  A 
few  moments  later  he  was  walking  between  quaintly  clipped 
laurel  and  yew-bushes,  which  bordered  the  great  avenue 
starred  with  semi-circular  lights,  where  bronze  and  marble 
statues  held  torches  and  braziers  of  flame. 

Sounds  of  joy  and  merry-making  fell  upon  his  ear,  causing 
a  frown,  like  a  black  shadow,  to  flit  over  his  face,  deepening 
by  stages  into  ill-repressed  rage.  In  whichever  manner  the 
dark  prophecies  concerning  the  Millennium  may  have  affected 
the  Romans  and  the  world  at  large,  it  was  quite  evident  they 
disturbed  not  the  merry  circle  assembled  in  the  great  hall 
beyond. 

At  last  Benilo  found  himself  at  the  entrance  of  a  vast  cir 
cular  hall.  The  picture  which  unfolded  itself  to  his  gaze  was 
like  a  fairy  fantasy.  Gilded  doors  led  in  every  direction  into 
vast  corridors,  ending  in  a  peri-style  supported  by  pillars. 
These  magnificent  oval  halls  admitted  neither  the  light  of  day 
nor  the  season  of  the  year.  The  large  central  hall,  at  the 
threshold  of  which  Benilo  stood,  reviewing  the  spectacle 
before  him,  had  no  windows.  Silver  candelabra,  perpetually 
burning  behind  transparent  curtains  of  sea-green  gauze 
diffused  a  jewel-like  radiance. 

42 


WANTON  COURT  OF  THEODORA 

And  here,  in  the  drowsy  warmth,  lounging  on  divans  of 
velvet,  their  feet  sunk  in  costly  Indian  and  Persian  carpets, 
drinking,  gossiping,  and  occasionally  bursting  into  fitful 
snatches  of  song,  revelled  a  company  of  distinguished  men, 
richly  clad,  representatives  of  the  most  exclusive  Roman 
society  of  the  time.  They  seemed  bent  upon  no  other  purpose 
save  to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  the  immediate  hour.  Africans  in 
fantastic  attire  carried  aloft  flagons  and  goblets,  whose  crys 
talline  sheen  reflected  the  crimson  glow  of  the  spicy 
Cyprian. 

Benilo's  arrival  had  not  been  noticed.  In  the  shadow  of 
the  entrance  he  viewed  the  brilliant  picture  with  its  changing 
tints,  its  flash  of  colour,  its  glint  of  gold,  the  enchanting 
women,  who  laughingly  gossipped  and  chatted  with  their 
guests,  freed  from  the  least  restraint  in  dress  or  manner,  thus 
adding  the  last  spark  to  the  fire  of  the  purple  Chianti.  But  as 
he  gazed  round  the  circle,  the  shade  of  displeasure  deepened 
in  Benilo's  countenance. 

Bembo,  the  most  renowned  wit  in  the  seven-hilled  city, 
had  just  recited  one  of  his  newest  and  most  poignant  epigrams, 
sparing  neither  emperor  nor  pope,  and  had  been  rewarded 
by  the  loud  applause  of  his  not  too  critical  audience  and  a 
smile  from  the  Siren,  who,  in  the  absence  of  the  hostess, 
seemed  to  preside  over  that  merry  circle.  With  her  neck  and 
shoulders  half  veiled  in  transparent  gauze,  revealing  rather 
than  concealing  the  soft,  undulating  lines  of  her  supple  body 
and  arms,  her  magnificent  black  hair  knotted  up  at  the  back 
of  her  head  and  wreathed  with  ivy,  Roxane  smiled  radiantly 
from  the  seat  of  honour,  which  she  had  usurped,  the  object 
of  mad  desire  of  many  a  one  present,  of  eager  admiration 
to  all.  A  number  of  attendants  moved  quickly  and  noiselessly 
about  the  spacious  hall,  decorated  with  palms  and  other 
tropical  plants,  while  among  the  revellers  the  conversation 
grew  more  lively  every  moment. 

43 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

In  the  shadow  of  the  great  door  Benilo  paused  and  listened. 

"  Where  is  the  Queen  of  the  Groves  ?  "  Roffredo,  a  dissolute 
youth,  questioned  his  neighbour,  who  divided  his  attention 
between  the  fair  nymph  by  his  side  and  the  goblet  which 
trembled  in  his  hands. 

"  Silence !  "  replied  the  personage  to  whom  the  young 
noble  had  addressed  himself,  with  a  meaning  glance. 

Roffredo  and  the  girl  by  his  side  glanced  in  the  direction 
indicated  by  the  speaker. 

"  Benilo,"  replied  the  Patrician.  "  Is  he  responsible  for 
Theodora's  absence  ?  " 

Oliverotto  uttered  a  coarse  laugh. 

Then  he  added  with  a  meaning  glance: 

"  I  will  enlighten  you  at  some  other  time.  But  is  it  true 
that  you  have  rescued  some  errant  damsel  from  Vitelozzo's 
clutches  ?  Why  do  you  not  gladden  our  eyes  with  so  chaste  a 
morsel  ?  " 

Roffredo  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Who  knows,  whether  it  was  the  vulture's  first  visit  to  the 
dove's  nest  ?  "  he  replied  with  a  disgusting  smile.  "  'Tis  not 
a  matter  of  much  consequence." 

Benilo  heard  the  lie  and  the  empty  boast.  He  hated  the 
prating  youth  for  reasons  of  his  own,  but  cared  not  to  inter 
fere  at  this  stage,  unconscious  that  his  presence  had  been 
remarked. 

"  Is  she  fair  ?  "  questioned  the  girl  by  Roffredo's  side. 

"  Some  might  call  her  so,"  replied  the  latter. 

The  girl  pouted  and  raised  the  goblet  to  her  lips. 

"  Reveal  her  name  to  us !  "  croaked  Bembo,  who,  though 
at  some  distance,  had  heard  every  word  of  the  discourse. 
"  And  I  will  forthwith  dedicate  to  her  five  and  twenty  stanzas 
on  her  virtue !  " 

"  Who  spoke  the  fatal  word  ? "  laughed  Roxane,  who 
presided  over  the  circle.  "  What  is  amusing  you  so  much, 

44 


WANTON  COURT  OF  THEODORA 

you  ancient  wine-cask?  "  She  then  turned  to  the  poet,  whose 
rather  prosaic  circumference  well  justified  the  epithet. 

"  The  old  theme  —  women !  "  croaked  Bembo  good- 
humouredly. 

"Forget  it!"  shouted  Roffredo,  draining  his  goblet. 
"  Rather  than  listen  to  your  tirades,  they  would  grasp  the 
red  hot  hand  of  the  devil." 

"  Ah !  We  live  in  a  sorry  age  and  it  behooves  us  to  think 
of  the  end,"  Roxane  sighed  with  a  mock  air  of  contrition, 
which  called  forth  a  general  outburst  of  mirth. 

"  You  are  the  very  one  to  ponder  over  the  most  convenient 
mode  of  exit  into  the  beyond,"  sneered  the  Lord  of  Gravina. 

"  What  have  we  here  ?  "  rasped  Bembo.  "  Who  dares  to 
speak  of  death  in  this  assembly  ?  " 

"  Nay,  we  would  rather  postpone  the  option  till  it  finds  us 
face  to  face  with  that  villainous  concoction  you  served  us, 
to  make  us  forget  your  more  villainous  poetry,"  shouted 
Oliverotto,  hobbling  across  the  hall  and  slapping  the  poet  on 
the  back.  "  I  knew  not  that  Roman  soil  produced  so  vile 
vintage !  " 

"  'Twas  Lacrymae  Christi,"  remonstrated  Bembo.  "  Would 
you  have  Ambrosia  with  every  epigram  on  your  vileness  ?  " 

"  Nay,  it  was  Satan's  own  brew,"  shrieked  the  baron,  his 
voice  strident  as  that  of  a  cat,  which  has  swallowed  a  fish 
bone. 

And  Oliverotto  clinked  his  goblet  and  cast  amorous  glances 
right  and  left  out  of  small  watery  eyes. 

Bembo  regarded  him  contemptuously. 

"  By  the  Cross !  You  are  touched  up  and  painted  like  a 
wench!  Everything  about  you  is  false,  even  to  your  wit! 
Beware,  fair  Roxane,  —  he  is  ogling  you  as  a  bullfrog  does  the 
stars !  " 

At  this  stage  an  intermezzo  interrupted  the  light,  bantering 
tone  of  conversation.  A  curtain  in  the  background  parted.  A 

45 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

bevy  of  black  haired  girls  entered  the  hall,  dressed  in  airy 
gowns,  which  revealed  every  line,  every  motion  of  their  bodies. 
They  encircled  the  guests  in  a  mad  whirl,  inclining  themselves 
first  to  one,  then  to  the  other.  They  were  led  by  one,  garbed 
as  Diana,  with  the  crescent  moon  upon  her  forehead,  her  black 
hair  streaming  about  the  whiteness  of  her  statuesque  body  like 
dark  sea-waves  caressing  marble  cliffs.  Taking  advantage  of 
this  stage  of  the  entertainment  Benilo  crossed  the  vast  hall  un 
noticed  and  sat  apart  from  the  revellers  in  gloomy  silence, 
listening  with  ill-concealed  annoyance  to  the  shouts  of  laughter 
and  the  clatter  of  irritating  tongues.  The  characteristic  wanton 
ness  of  his  features  had  at  this  moment  given  place  to  a  look 
of  weariness  and  suffering,  a  seemingly  unaccustomed  expres 
sion;  it  was  a  look  of  longing,  the  craving  of  a  passion  un 
satisfied,  a  hope  beyond  his  hope.  Many  envied  him  for  his 
fame  and  profligacy,  others  read  in  his  face  the  stamp  of  sul 
len  cruelty,  which  vented  itself  wherever  resistance  seemed 
useless;  but  there  was  none  to  sound  his  present  mood. 

Benilo  had  not  been  at  his  chosen  spot  very  long,  when  some 
one  touched  him  on  the  shoulder.  Looking  up,  he  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  an  individual,  wrapt  in  a  long  mantle, 
the  colour  of  which  was  a  curious  mixture  of  purple  and  brown. 
His  face  was  shaded  by  a  conical  hat,  a  quaint  combination 
of  Byzantine  helmet  and  Norse  head-gear,  being  provided 
with  a  straight,  sloping  brim,  which  made  it  impossible  to 
scrutinize  his  features.  This  personage  was  Hezilo,  a  wander 
ing  minstrel  seemingly  hailing  from  nowhere.  At  least  no 
one  had  penetrated  the  mystery  which  enshrouded  him. 

"  Are  you  alone  insensible  to  the  charms  of  these?  "  And 
Benilo's  interlocutor  pointed  to  the  whirling  groups. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  one  who  is  absent,"  Benilo  replied, 
relapsing  into  his  former  listless  attitude. 

"  Why  not  pluck  the  flowers  that  grow  in  your  path,  waiting 
but  your  will  and  pleasure?  " 

46 


WANTON  COURT  OF  THEODORA 

Benilo  clenched  his  hands  till  the  nails  were  buried  in  the 
flesh. 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  of  an  Eastern  drug,  which  mirrors 
Paradise  before  your  senses  ?  " 

Hezilo  shook  his  head.     "  What  of  it  ?  " 

"  He  who  becomes  its  victim  is  doomed  irretrievably. 
While  under  its  baleful  spell,  he  is  happy.  Deprive  him  of 
it  and  the  horrors  of  hell  are  upon  him.  No  rest!  No  peace! 
And  like  the  fiend  addicted  to  the  drug  is  the  thrice  accursed 
wretch  who  loves  Theodora." 

Hezilo  regarded  the  Chamberlain  strangely. 

"  Benilo  deploring  the  inconstancy  of  woman,"  he  said 
with  noiseless  laugh.  Then,  beckoning  to  one  of  the  attend 
ants,  he  took  from  the  salver  thus  offered  to  him  a  goblet, 
which  he  filled  with  the  dark  crimson  wine. 

"  Drink  and  forget,"  he  cried.  "  You  will  find  it  even  better 
than  your  Eastern  drug." 

Benilo  shook  his  head  and  pushed  away  the  proffered 
wine. 

"  Your  advice  comes  too  late!  " 

For  a  moment  neither  spoke.  Benilo,  busied  with  his  own 
thoughts,  sat  listening  to  the  boisterous  clamour  of  the  revellers, 
while  the  harper's  gaze  rested  unseen  upon  him. 

After  a  pause  he  broke  the  silence. 

"  How  chanced  it,"  he  said,  placing  his  hand  affectionately 
on  the  other's  shoulder,  "  that  Benilo,  who  has  broken  all 
ten  commandments  and,  withal,  hearts  untold,  Benilo,  who 
could  have  at  his  feet  every  woman  in  Rome,  became  woman's 
prey,  her  abject  slave?  That  he  is  grovelling  in  the  dust,  where 
he  might  be  lord  and  master?  That  he  whines  and  whimpers, 
where  he  should  command?  " 

Benilo  turned  fiercely  upon  his  interlocutor. 

"  Who  dares  say  that  I  whine  and  whimper  and  grovel  at 
her  feet?  Fools  alll  On  a  mountain  pass  the  trip  is  easier 

47 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

down  than  up!  Know  you  what  it  means  to  love  a  woman 
with  mad  consuming  passion,  but  to  be  cast  aside  for  some 
blatant  ass,  to  catch  a  few  crumbs  of  favour  tossed  in  one's 
face?  Men  like  that  rhyming  zebra  Bembo,  who  sings  of  love, 
which  he  has  never  felt." 

"  Still  you  have  not  answered  my  question,"  said  the  harper 
with  quiet  persistence.  "  Why  are  you  the  slave  where  you 
should  be  the  master?  Theodora  is  whimsical,  heartless, 
cruel;  still  she  is  a  woman." 

"  She  is  a  devil,  a  heartless  beautiful  devil  who  grinds  the 
hearts  of  men  beneath  her  feet  and  laughs.  Sometimes  she 
taunts  me  till  I  could  strangle  her  —  ah !  But  I  placed  myself 
in  the  demon's  power  and  having  myself  broken  the  compact 
which  bound  me  to  her,  body  and  soul  —  from  the  lord  I 
was,  I  have  sunk  to  the  slave  I  am,  —  you  see,  I  speak  free 
from  the  heart,  what  little  she  has  left  of  it." 

The  harper  nodded. 

"  Why  not  leave  Rome  for  a  time?  "  he  said.  "  Your 
absence  might  soften  Theodora's  heart.  Your  sins,  whatever 
they  were,  will  appear  less  glaring  in  the  haze  of  the 
distance." 

Benilo  looked  up  like  an  infuriated  tiger. 

"  Has  she  appointed  you  my  guardian? "  he  laughed 
harshly. 

"  I  have  had  no  words  with  her,"  replied  the  harper.  "  But 
one  with  eyes  to  see,  cannot  help  but  sound  your  ailment." 

The  Chamberlain  relaxed. 

"  The  drug  is  in  the  blood,"  he  replied  wearily. 

"  Then  win  her  back,  if  you  can,"  said  the  harper. 

Benilo  clenched  his  hands  while  he  glared  up  at  the  other. 
"It  is  a  game  between  the  devil  and  despair,  and  the  devil 
has  the  deal." 

"  A  losing  game  for  you,  should  either  win." 

Benilo  nodded. 

48 


WANTON  COURT  OF  THEODORA 

"  I  know  it!  Yet  one  single  word  would  make  me  master 
where  I  am  the  slave." 

"  And  you  waver?  " 

"  Silence!  "  growled  Benilo.    "  Tempt  me  no  more!  " 

Their  discourse  at  this  point  was  rudely  interrupted  by 
the  clamour  of  the  guests,  bent  upon  silencing  Bembo's  exuber 
ance,  whose  tongue,  like  a  ribbon  in  the  wind,  fluttered  inces 
santly.  He  bore  himself  with  the  airs  of  some  orator  of 
antiquity,  rolling  his  eyes  until  they  showed  the  whites  beneath, 
and  beating  the  air  with  his  short,  chubby  arms. 

"  If  Bembo  is  to  be  believed  there  is  not  in  all  Rome  one  faith 
ful  wife  nor  one  innocent  girl,"  roared  the  lord  of  Bracciano, 
a  burly  noble  who  was  balancing  a  dainty  dancer  on  his  knee, 
while  she  held  his  faun-like  head  encircled  with  her  arms. 

"  Pah!  "  cried  Guido  da  Fermo,  a  baron  whose  chief  merit 
consisted  in  infesting  the  roads  in  the  Patrimony  of  St.  Peter. 
"  There  are  some,  but  they  are  scarce,  remarkably  scarce !  " 

"  Make  your  wants  known  at  the  street  corners,"  exclaimed 
Roffredo,  taking  the  cue.  "  And  I  wager  our  fair  Queen  would 
be  the  first  to  claim  the  prize." 

And  the  young  Patrician  whose  face  revealed  traces  of 
grossest  debauchery  gazed  defiantly  round  the  hall,  as  if 
challenging  some  one  to  take  up  the  gauntlet,  if  he  dared. 

"  Be  careful !  "  whispered  the  girl  Nelida,  his  companion. 
"  Benilo  is  looking  at  you!  " 

Roffredo  laughed  boisterously. 

"  Theodora's  discarded  lover?  Why  should  I  muffle  my 
speech  to  please  his  ear?  " 

The  girl  laughed  nervously. 

"  Because  the  tongue  of  a  fool,  when  long  enough,  is  a 
rope  to  hang  him  by,  —  and  he  loves  her  still!  " 

"  He  loves  her  still,"  drawled  the  half -intoxicated  Patrician, 
turning  his  head  toward  the  spot  where  Benilo  sat  listening 
with  flaming  eyes.  "  The  impudence !  " 

49 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

And  he  staggered  to  his  feet,  holding  aloft  the  goblet  with 
one  hand,  while  the  other  encircled  the  body  of  the  dancing 
girl,  who  tried  in  vain  to  silence  him. 

"  Fill  your  goblets,"  he  shouted,  —  "  fill  your  goblets  full  — 
to  the  brim." 

He  glanced  round  the  hall  with  insolent  bravado,  while 
Benilo,  who  had  not  lost  a  word  the  other  had  spoken,  leaned 
forward,  his  thin  lips  straightening  in  a  hard  white  line, 
while  his  narrowing  eyelids  and  his  trembling  hands  attested 
his  pent  up  ire  louder  than  words. 

"  A  toast  to  the  absent,"  shrieked  Roffredo.  "  A  toast  to 
the  most  beautiful  and  the  most  virtuous  woman  in  Rome,  a 
toast  to  —  " 

He  paused  for  an  instant,  for  a  white-cheeked  face  close 
to  his,  whispered: 

"  Stop !    On  your  life  be  silent !  " 

But  Roffredo  paid  no  heed. 

He  whirled  the  crystal  goblet  round  his  head,  spilling  some 
of  the  contents  over  the  girl,  who  shrank  from  it,  as  from 
an  evil  omen.  The  purple  Chianti  looked  like  blood  on  her 
white  skin. 

"  To  Theodora!  "  shouted  the  drunken  youth,  as  all  except 
Benilo  raised  their  goblets  to  join  hi  the  toast.  "  To  Theodora, 
the  Wanton  Queen,  whose  eyes  are  aglow  with  hell's  hot 
fire,  whose  scarlet  lips  would  kiss  the  fiend,  whose  splendid 
arms  would  embrace  the  devil,  were  he  passing  fair  to  look 
upon !  " 

He  came  no  further. 

"  May  lightning  strike  you  in  your  tracks !  "  Benilo  howled, 
insane  with  long  suppressed  rage,  as  he  hurled  a  heavy  de 
canter  he  had  snatched  from  the  board,  at  the  head  of  the 
offender. 

A  shrill  outcry,  dying  away  into  a  moan,  then  into  silence, 
the  crash  of  broken  flagons,  a  lifeless  form  gliding  from  his 

50 


WANTON  COURT  OF  THEODORA 

paralyzed  arms  to  the  floor,  roused  Roffredo  to  the  reality  of 
what  had  happened.  The  heavy  decanter  having  missed  its 
aim,  had  struck  the  girl  Nelida  squarely  in  the  forehead,  and 
the  dark  stream  of  blood  which  flowed  over  her  eyes,  her  face, 
her  neck,  down  her  arms,  her  airy  gown,  mingled  with  the  purple 
wine  from  the  Patrician's  spilled  goblet. 

It  was  a  ghastly  sight.  In  an  instant  pandemonium  reigned 
in  the  hall.  The  painted  women  shrieked  and  rushed  for 
safety  behind  columns  and  divans,  leaving  the  men  to 
care  for  the  dying  girl,  whom  Bembo  and  Oliverotto  tenderly 
lifted  to  a  divan,  where  the  former  bandaged  the  terribly 
gashed  head. 

While  he  did  so  the  poor  dancing  girl  breathed  her 
last. 

The  awful  sight  had  effectually  sobered  Benilo.  For  a  mo 
ment  the  drunken  noble  stared  as  one  petrified  on  the  deed  he 
had  wrought,  then  the  sharp  blade  of  his  poniard  hissed  from 
its  scabbard  and  with  a  half  smothered  outcry  of  fury  he 
flew  at  Roffredo's  throat. 

"This  is  your  deed,  you  lying  cur!  "  he  snarled  into  the 
trembling  youth's  face,  whom  the  catastrophe  had  completely 
unnerved  and  changed  into  a  blanched  coward.  "  Retract 
your  lying  boast  or  I'll  send  you  to  hell  ere  you  can  utter  a 
Pater-Noster!  " 

With  the  unbounded  fury  of  a  maniac  who  has  broken 
his  chains  and  against  whose  rage  no  mortal  strength  may 
cope,  Benilo  brought  Roffredo  down  on  the  floor,  where  he 
knelt  on  his  breast,  holding  his  throat  in  a  vice-like  grip, 
which  choked  any  words  the  prostrate  youth  might  endeavour 
to  speak. 

The  terror  of  the  deed,  which  had  cast  its  pall  over  the 
merry  revellers,  and  the  suddenness  of  the  attack  on  Roffredo 
had  so  completely  paralyzed  those  present,  that  none  came  to 
the  rescue  of  the  prostrate  man,  who  vainly  struggled  to  extri- 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

cate  himself  from  his  opponent's  clutches.  His  eyes  ablaze 
with  rage,  Benilo  had  set  the  point  of  his  dagger  against  the 
chest  of  his  victim,  whom  now  no  power  on  earth  seemed 
able  to  save,  as  his  cowardly  associates  made  no  effort  to  stay 
the  Chamberlain's  hand. 

He  who  had  seen  Benilo,  in  the  palace  on  the  Aventine, 
composing  an  ode  in  the  hall  of  audience,  would  have  been 
staggered  at  the  complete  transformation  from  a  diplomatic 
courtier  to  a  fiend  incarnate,  his  usually  sedate  features  dis 
torted  with  mad  passion  and  rage.  A  half-choked  outcry  of 
brute  fear  and  despair  failed  to  bring  any  one  to  the  prostrate 
boaster's  aid,  most  of  those  present,  including  the  women, 
thronging  round  the  dead  girl  Nelida,  and  Roff redo's  fate  seemed 
sealed.  But  at  that  moment,  something  happened  to  stay 
Benilo's  uplifted  hand. 


CHAPTER  V 


THE  WAGER 


T  the  moment  when  Benilo  had 
raised  his  poniard,  to  drive  it 
through  his  opponent's  heart,  the 
diaphanous  curtains  dividing  the 
great  hall  from  the  rest  of  the 
buildings  were  flung  aside  and 
hi  the  entrance  there  appeared 
a  woman  like  some  fierce  and 
majestic  fury,  who  at  a 
moment's  glance  took  in  the 
whole  scene  and  its  import.  Her  manner  was  that 
of  a  queen,  of  a  queen  who  was  wont  to  bend  all  men  to  her 
slightest  caprice.  Every  eye  hi  the  large  hall  was  bent  upon 
her  and  every  soul  felt  a  thrill  of  wonder  and  admiration. 
The  ivory  pallor  of  her  face  was  enhanced  by  the  dark  gloss 
of  her  raven  hair.  The  slumbrous  starry  eyes  were  meant  to 
hold  the  memories  of  a  thousand  love-thoughts.  A  dim 
suffused  radiance  seemed  to  hover  like  an  aureole  above  her 
dazzling  white  brow,  crowning  the  perfect  oval  of  her  face, 
adorned  with  a  clustering  wealth  of  raven-black  tresses. 
She  was  arrayed  in  a  black,  silk-embroidered  diaphanous 
robe,  the  most  sumptuous  the  art  of  the  Orient  could  supply. 
Of  softest  texture,  it  revealed  the  matchless  contours  of  her 
form  and  arms,  of  her  regal  throat,  heightening  by  the  con 
trast  the  ivory  sheen  of  her  satin-skrn. 

But  those  eyes  which,  when  kindled  with  the  fires  of  love, 
might  have  set  marble  aflame,  were  blazing  with  the  torches  of 

53 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

wrath,  as  looking  round  the  hall,  she  darted  a  swift  inquiring 
glance  at  the  chief  offenders,  one  of  whom  could  not  have 
spoken  had  he  wished  to,  for  Benilo  was  fairly  strangling  him. 

The  rest  of  the  company  had  instinctively  turned  their  faces 
towards  the  Queen  of  the  Groves,  endeavouring  at  the  same 
time  to  hide  the  sight  of  the  dead  girl  from  her  eyes  by  closely 
surrounding  the  couch,  with  their  backs  to  the  victim.  But 
their  consternation  as  well  as  the  very  act  betrayed  them. 
From  the  struggling  men  on  the  floor,  Theodora's  gaze  turned 
to  the  affrighted  company  and  she  hah*  guessed  the  truth. 
Advancing  towards  her  guests,  she  pushed  their  unresisting 
forms  aside,  raised  the  cover  from  the  dead  girl  with  the 
bloody  bandage  over  the  still  white  face,  bent  over  it  quickly 
to  kiss  the  dark,  silken  hair,  then  she  demanded  an  account  of 
the  deed.  One  of  the  women  reported  in  brief  and  concise 
terms  what  had  happened  before  she  arrived.  At  the  sight  of 
this  flower,  broken  and  destroyed,  Theodora's  anger  seemed  for 
a  moment  to  subside,  like  a  trampled  spark,  before  a  great  pity 
that  rose  in  her  heart.  In  an  instant  the  whole  company 
rushed  upon  her  with  excited  gestures  and  before  the  Babel  of 
jabbering  tongues,  each  striving  to  tell  his  or  her  story  in  a 
voice  above  the  rest,  the  Fury  returned. 

Theodora  stamped  her  foot  and  commanded  silence.  At  the 
sight  of  the  woman,  Benilo's  arms  had  fallen  powerlessly  by  his 
side  and  Roffredo,  taking  advantage  of  an  unwatched  moment, 
had  pushed  the  Chamberlain  off  and  staggered  to  his  feet. 

"  Whose  deed  is  this?  "  Theodora  demanded,  holding  aloft 
the  covering  of  the  couch. 

"  It  was  my  accursed  luck !  The  decanter  was  intended  for 
this  lying  cur,  whose  black  heart  I  will  wrench  out  of  his 
body!" 

And  Benilo  pointed  to  the  shrinking  form  of  Roffredo. 

"  What  had  he  done?  " 

"  He  had  insulted  you !  " 

54 


THE    WAGER 

"  That  proves  his  courage !  "  she  replied  with  a  withering 
glance  of  contempt. 

Then  she  beckoned  to  the  attendants. 

"  Have  the  girl  removed  and  summon  the  Greek  —  though 
I  fear  it  is  too  late." 

There  was  a  ring  of  regret  in  her  tones.  It  vanished  as 
quickly  as  it  had  come. 

The  body  of  Nelida,  the  dancing  girl,  was  carried  away 
and  the  guests  resumed  their  seats.  Roxane  had  reluctantly 
abandoned  her  usurped  place  of  honour.  A  quick  flash,  a 
silent  challenge  passed  between  the  two  women,  as  Theodora 
took  her  accustomed  seat. 

"  A  glass  of  wine !  "  she  commanded  imperiously,  and 
Roffredo,  reassured,  rushed  to  the  nearest  attendant,  took  a 
goblet  from  the  salver  and  presented  it  to  the  Queen  of  the 
Groves. 

"Ah!  Thanks,  Roffredo!  So  it  was  you  who  insulted  me 
in  my  absence?  "  she  said  with  an  undertone  of  irony  in 
her  voice,  which  had  the  rich  sound  of  a  deep-toned  bell. 

"  I  said  you  would  embrace  the  devil,  did  he  but  appear 
in  presentable  countenance ! "  Roffredo  replied  contritely, 
but  with  a  vicious  side  glance  at  Benilo. 

An  ominous  smile  curved  Theodora's  crimson  lips. 

"  The  risk  would  be  slight,  since  I  have  kept  company  with 
each  of  you,"  she  replied.  "  And  our  virtuous  Benilo  took 
up  the  gauntlet  ?  " 

Her  low  voice  was  soft  and  purring,  yet  laden  with  the 
poison  sting  of  irony,  as  through  half -closed  lids  she  glanced 
towards  the  Chamberlain,  who  sat  apart  in  moody  silence  like 
a  spectre  at  the  feast. 

Benilo  scented  danger  in  her  tone  and  answered  cautiously : 

"  Only  a  coward  will  hear  the  woman  he  loves  reviled  with 
impunity." 

Theodora  bowed  with  mock  courtesy, 

55 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

"  If  you  wish  to  honour  me  with  this  confession,  I  care  as 
little  for  the  one  as  the  other.  From  your  temper  I  judge 
some  innocent  dove  had  escaped  your  vulture's  talons." 

Benilo  met  the  challenge  in  her  smouldering  look  and 
answered  with  assumed  indifference: 

"  Your  spies  have  misinformed  you !  But  I  am  in  no  mood 
to  constitute  the  target  of  your  jests!  " 

"  There  is  but  one  will  which  rules  these  halls,"  Theodora 
flashed  out.  "  If  obedience  to  its  mandates  is  distasteful  to 
you,  the  gates  are  open  —  spread  your  pinions  and  fly  away!  " 

She  flung  back  her  head  and  their  eyes  met. 

Benilo  turned  away,  uttering  a  terrible  curse  between  his 
clenched  teeth. 

There  was  a  deep  hush  in  the  hall,  as  if  the  spirit  of  the 
dead  girl  was  haunting  the  guests.  The  harps  played  a  plaintive 
melody,  which  might  indeed  have  stolen  from  some  hearth 
of  ashes,  when  stirred  by  the  breath  of  its  smouldering  spark, 
like  phantom-memories  from  another  world,  that  seemed  to 
call  to  Theodora's  inner  consciousness,  each  note  a  foot-step, 
leading  her  away  beyond  the  glint  and  glitter  of  the  world 
that  surrounded  her,  to  a  garden  of  purity  and  peace  in  the 
dim,  long-forgotten  past.  Theodora  sat  in  a  reverie,  her 
strange  eyes  fixed  on  nothingness,  her  red  lips  parted,  disclosing 
two  rows  of  teeth,  small,  even,  pearly,  while  her  full,  white 
bosom  rose  and  fell  with  quickened  respiration. 

"  The  Queen  of  the  Groves  is  in  a  pensive  mood  to-night," 
sneered  the  Lord  of  Bracciano,  who  had  been  engaged  in 
mentally  weighing  her  charms  against  those  of  Roxane". 

Theodora  sighed. 

"  I  may  well  be  pensive,  for  I  have  seen  to-day,  what  I 
had  despaired  of  ever  again  beholding  in  Rome  —  can  you 
guess  what  it  is?  " 

Shouts  of  laughter  broke,  a  jarring  discord,  harshly  upon 
her  speech. 

56 


THE   WAGER 

"  We  are  perishing  with  curiosity,"  shouted,  as  with  one 
voice,  the  debauched  nobles  and  their  feminine  companions. 

"  In  the  name  of  pity,  save  our  lives !  "  begged  a  girl  nearest 
to  Theodora's  seat. 

"  Can  you  guess?  "  the  Queen  of  the  Groves  repeated 
simply,  as  she  gazed  round  the  assembly. 

All  sorts  of  strange  answers  were  hurled  at  the  throne  of 
the  Queen  of  the  Groves.  She  heeded  them  not.  Perhaps 
she  did  not  even  hear  them. 

At  last  she  raised  her  head. 

Without  commenting  on  the  guesses  of  her  guests,  she 
said: 

"  I  have  seen  in  Rome  to-day  —  a  man!  " 

Benilo  squirmed.  The  rest  of  the  guests  laughed  harshly 
and  Bembo,  the  Poet  asked  with  a  vapid  grin: 

"  And  is  the  sight  so  wondrous  that  the  Queen  of  Love  sits 
dreaming  among  her  admirers  like  a  Sphinx  in  the  African 
desert?  " 

"  Had  he  horns?  "  shouted  the  Lord  of  Bracciano. 

"  Or  a  cloven  hoof?  "  cried  Oliverotto. 

"  What  was  he  like?  "  sneered  a  third. 

Theodora  turned  upon  her  questioners,  a  dash  of  scorn  in 
her  barbed  reply. 

"  I  speak  of  a  man,  not  reptiles  like  you  —  you  all!  " 

"  Mercy,  oh  queen,  mercy !  "  begged  the  apoplectic  poet, 
amid  the  noisy  clamour  of  his  jeering  companions.  But 
heedless  of  their  jabbering  tongues  Theodora  continued  ear 
nestly  : 

"  Not  such  men  as  the  barons  of  Rome  are  pleased  to  call 
themselves,  cowardly,  vicious,  —  beasts,  who  believe  not  in 
God  nor  the  devil,  and  whose  aim  in  life  is  but  to  clothe  their 
filthy  carcass  in  gaudy  apparel  and  appease  the  cravings  of 
their  lust  and  their  greed!  I  speak  of  a  man,  something  the 
meaning  of  which  is  as  dark  to  you  as  the  riddle  of  the  Sphinx." 

57 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

The  company  gazed  at  each  other  in  mute  bewilderment. 

Theodora  was  indeed  in  a  most  singular  mood. 

"  Are  we  not  at  the  Court  of  Theodora?  "  shouted  the  Lord 
of  Bracciano,  who  was  experiencing  some  inconvenience  in 
the  feat  of  embracing  with  his  short  arms  the  two  women 
between  whom  he  was  seated.  "  Or  has  some  sudden  magic 
transported  us  to  the  hermitage  of  the  mad  monk,  who  pre 
dicts  the  End  of  Time?  " 

"  Nay,"  Benilo  spoke  up  for  the  first  time  since  Theodora's 
rebuke  had  silenced  him,  "  perhaps  our  beautiful  Queen  of 
Love  has  in  store  for  her  guests  just  such  a  riddle  as  the  one 
the  Sphinx  proposed  to  the  son  of  lokaste'  —  with  but  a  slight 
variation." 

The  illiterate  high-born  rabble  of  Rome  did  not  catch  the 
drift  of  the  Patrician's  speech,  but  the  pallor  on  Theodora's 
cheeks  deepened. 

Roxane*  alone  turned  to  the  speaker. 

"  And  the  simile?  "  she  asked  in  her  sweet  siren-voice, 
tremulous  with  the  desire  to  clash  with  her  more  beautiful 
rival. 

Benilo  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  he  winced  under  Theo 
dora's  deadly  gaze. 

"  The  simile?  "  he  replied  with  a  jarring  laugh.  "  It  is  this, 
that  incest  and  adultery  are  as  old  as  the  Athenian  asses,  that 
never  died,  and  that  the  Sphinx  eventually  drowned  herself 
in  the  Aegean  Sea." 

Theodora  made  no  reply,  but  relapsed  into  her  former  state 
of  thoughtfulness.  As  she  turned  from  Benilo,  her  eyes  met 
those  of  Roxane",  and  again  the  two  women  flashed  defiance 
at  each  other. 

Again  the  laughter  of  the  revellers  rose,  louder  than  before. 

"  By  the  Cross,"  shouted  the  poet,  "  the  Queen  of  Love  will 
take  the  veil." 

"  Has  she  chosen  the  convent,  whose  nuns  she  will  cause 

58 


THE   WAGER 

to  be  canonized  by  her  exemplary  life  and  glorious  example," 
jeered  Roxane. 

"  We  shall  sing  a  thousand  Aves  and  buy  tapers  as 
large  as  her  unimpeached  virtue !  "  cried  another  of  the 
women. 

"  I  fear  one  nunnery  is  damned  from  chapel  to  refec 
tory,"  growled  Benilo,  keeping  his  eyes  on  the  floor,  as  if 
fearful  of  meeting  those  he  instinctively  felt  burning  upon  him. 

"Silence!  "  cried  Theodora  at  last,  stamping  her  foot  on 
the  floor,  while  a  glow  of  hot  resentment  flushed  her  cheeks. 
"  Your  merriment  and  clamour  only  draws  the  sharper  line 
between  you  and  that  other,  of  whom  I  spoke." 

Roffredo  looked  up  with  a  smile  of  indolence. 

"  And  who  is  the  demi-god?  "  he  drawled  lazily. 

She  measured  him  with  undisguised  scorn  and  contempt. 

"  The  name !  The  story !  "  bellowed  several  individuals, 
raising  their  goblets  and  half  spilling  their  contents  in  their 
besotten  mood. 

In  a  strange  voice,  melodious  as  the  sound  of  Aeolian  harps 
when  the  night  wind  passes  over  their  strings,  amid  profound 
silence  Theodora  related  to  her  assembled  guests  the  incident 
of  the  runaway  steeds  in  which  she  had  so  prominently  figured, 
the  chariot  having  been  her  own,  —  the  occupant  herself. 
She  omitted  not  a  detail  of  the  stranger's  heroic  deed,  passing 
from  her  own  thrilling  experience  to  Vitelozzo's  assault  upon 
one  of  the  New  Vestals,  and  his  discomfiture  at  the  hand  of  him 
who  had  saved  her  life. 

"  And  while  your  Roman  scum  hissed  and  hooted  and 
raised  not  a  finger  in  the  girl's  defence,  her  rescuer  alone 
braved  Vitelozzo's  fury  —  I  saw  him  whisper  something  into 
the  ruffian's  ear  and  the  mighty  lord  skulked  away  like  a  fright 
ened  cur.  By  heaven,  I  have  seen  a  man !  "  the  Queen  of  the 
Groves  concluded  ecstatically,  disdaining  to  dwell  on  her  own 
rescue. 

59 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

For  a  lingering  moment  there  hovered  silence  on  the  as 
sembly.  Gradually  it  gave  way  to  a  flutter  of  questions. 

"  Who  is  he?  "  queried  one. 

"  What  is  he  like?  "  shouted  another. 

Theodora  did  not  heed  the  questions.  Only  her  lovely  face, 
framed  by  hair  dark  as  the  darkest  midnight,  had  grown  a 
shade  more  pale  and  pensive. 

Suddenly  she  turned  to  the  last  questioner,  a  woman. 

"  What  was  he  like?  "  she  replied.  "  Tall,  and  in  the  prime 
of  manhood ;  his  face  concealed  by  his  vizor." 

The  woman  sighed  amorously.  The  men  nodded  to  each 
other  with  meaning  glances.  The  danger  of  the  convent 
seemed  passed. 

Benilo,  who  during  Theodora's  narrative  had  proven  an 
ideal  listener,  of  a  sudden  clenched  his  fist  and  gazed  round 
for  the  harper,  who  sat  in  a  remote  corner  of  the  hall. 

Another  moment's  musing,  then  the  Chamberlain  ground 
his  teeth  together  with  the  fierce  determination  to  carry  out 
at  all  hazards,  what  he  had  resolved  in  his  mind.  Theodora 
herself  was  playing  into  his  hands. 

"  Do  you  know  this  incomparable  hero,  this  modern 
Theseus?  "  he  drawled  out  slowly  and  with  deliberate  im 
pudence,  addressing  the  Queen  of  the  Groves. 

Theodora's  gaze  was  sharp  as  steel. 

"  What  is  it  to  you?  "  she  hissed. 

Benilo  shrugged  his  shoulders  disdainfully. 

"  Nothing  whatever!     I  also  know  him!  " 

There  was  something  in  his  tone,  which  struck  the  ever- 
watchful  ear  of  Theodora  like  a  danger-knell. 

"  You  know  him  ?  "  echoed  a  chorus  of  voices  from  every 
part  of  the  great  hall. 

He  waved  back  the  eager  questioners. 

"I  know  him!"  he  declared  emphatically,  then  he  was 
silent. 

60 


THE   WAGER 

Theodora  seemed  to  have  grown  nervous. 

"  Are  you  serious?  " 

"Never  more  so!"  Benilo  replied,  with  a  slight  peculiar 
hardening  of  the  lips. 

"  Is  he  a  Roman?  "  cried  a  voice. 

"  All  Romans  according  to  our  fair  Queen's  judgment,  are 
curs  and  degenerates,"  Benilo  drawled  insultingly. 

Theodora  nodded. 

"  Even  so,"  she  replied  coldly. 

"  This  demi-god,  however,  is  also  slightly  known  to  you," 
the  Chamberlain  continued,  now  fairly  facing  the  Queen  of 
Love,  "  even  though  he  has  not  yet  found  his  way  to  your 
bowers." 

Theodora  winced. 

"  Why  do  you  taunt  me?  "  she  flashed  back  angrily. 

Benilo  heeded  her  not.  Instead  of  replying,  he  addressed 
himself  to  the  company,  speaking  in  a  dry,  half-bantering 
tone,  while  Theodora  watched  him  like  a  tigress. 

"  Once  upon  a  time,  the  Queen  of  Love  boasted  that  mortal 
man  did  not  breathe  who  would  resist  her  charms.  Now 
there  is  at  this  hour  one  man  here  in  Rome,  whom  even  the 
matchless  Theodora  dare  not  summon  to  her  circle,  one  man 
before  whose  '  No  '  her  vain-glorious  boast  would  break  like 
a  bubble,  one  man  whose  soul  she  may  not  sap  and  send  to 
hell !  And  this  one  man  is  even  the  hero  of  her  dreams,  her  res 
cuer,  —  the  rescuer  of  a  maiden  of  spotless  virtue,  the  van 
quisher  of  a  giant !  Do  I  speak  truth,  divine  Theodora?  " 

Those  who  watched  the  expression  on  the  face  of  the  Queen 
of  the  Groves  marvelled  alike  at  Benilo's  audacity  and  the 
startling  absence  of  a  passionate  outburst  on  the  part  of  the 
woman.  And  though  the  blood  seethed  through  Theodora's 
veins,  the  sudden  change  of  front  on  Benilo's  part  seemed  to 
stagger  her  for  a  moment.  It  was  a  novel  sensation  to  see  the 
man  who  had  heretofore  been  like  clay  in  the  moulder's  hands 

61 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

now  daring  to  flout  her  openly  and  to  hold  up  her  wounded 
pride  as  a  target  for  the  jests  of  those  present.  It  was  a  novel 
sensation,  to  find  herself  publicly  berated,  but  the  shaft  sank 
deep.  Theodora's  eyes  flashed  scorn  and  there  was  some 
thing  cruel  in  her  glances.  Benilo  felt  its  sting  like  a  whip 
lash.  His  nerves  quivered  and  he  breathed  hard.  But  he 
had  gone  too  far  to  recede.  His  spirit  had  risen  hi  arms 
against  the  disdain  of  the  woman  he  loved,  —  loved  with  a 
passion  that  seemed  to  have  slept  in  a  tomb  for  ages  and  sud 
denly  gathered  new  strength,  like  a  fire  kindled  anew  over  dead 
ashes. 

Acting  on  a  sudden  impulse,  he  raised  his  head  and  looked 
at  her  with  a  fearlessness  which  for  the  moment  appeared  to 
startle  her  self-possession,  for  a  deep  flush  coloured  the  fairness 
of  her  face  and,  fading,  left  it  pale  as  marble.  Still  Theodora 
did  not  speak  and  the  breathless  silence  which  had  succeeded 
Benilo's  last  taunt  resembled  the  ominous  hush  of  the  heated 
atmosphere  before  a  thunder-clap.  No  one  dared  speak  and 
the  Chamberlain,  apparently  struck  by  the  sudden  stillness, 
looked  round  from  the  tumbled  cushions  where  he 
reclined. 

"  You  do  not  answer  my  question,  fair  Theodora,"  he 
spoke  at  last,  an  undertone  of  mockery  ringing  through  his 
speech.  "  I  grant  you  power  over  some  weak  fools,"  and 
Benilo  glanced  round  the  assembly,  little  caring  for  the  mutter 
which  his  words  raised,  "  but  you  will  at  least  admit  that  there 
is  one  man  hi  Rome  at  this  very  hour,  on  whom  all  your  charms 
and  blandishments  would  be  wasted  as  a  caress  on  cold 
marble." 

Another  deep  and  death-like  pause  ensued ;  then  Theodora's 
silvery  cold  tones  smote  the  profound  silence  with  sharp 
retort,  as  goaded  at  last  beyond  forbearance  by  his  scoffing 
tone  she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  There  is  not  a  man  in  Rome,"  she  hissed  into  Benilo's 

62 


THE   WAGER 

face,  "  not  in  Italy,  not  in  all  the  world,  whom  I  could  not 
bend  to  the  force  of  my  will.    Where  I  choose,  I  conquer!  " 

A  sardonic  laugh  broke  from  Benilo's  lips. 

"  And  by  what  means?  " 

"  Benilo,"  she  flashed  forth  in  withering  contempt,  "  I 
know  not  what  your  object  is  in  taunting  me  —  and  I  care 
not  —  but  by  Lucifer,  you  go  too  far !  Name  to  me  a  man  in 
Rome,  name  whom  you  will,  and  if  I  fail  to  win  him  in  one 
month  —  " 

"  What  then?  " 

For  a  moment  she  hesitated. 

"  Name  the  wager  yourself!  " 

An  ominous  smile  curved  Benilo's  lips. 

"  All  the  wealth  I  possess  against  you  —  as  my  wife !  " 

She  laughed  scornfully  and  shuddered,  but  did  not  reply. 

"  Are  you  afraid?  "  he  cried,  tauntingly. 

"  What  a  fate!  "  she  replied  with  trepidation  in  her  tone. 
"  But  I  accept  it,  even  it!  " 

She  turned  her  back  on  him  after  a  look  of  such  withering 
contempt  as  one  might  cast  on  some  reptile,  and  took  her  former 
seat,  when  again  she  was  startled  by  his  voice.  Its  mock 
caressing  tones  caused  her  to  clench  her  firm  white  hands 
and  bend  forward  as  if  tempted  to  strangle  the  viper,  that  had 
dared  to  place  its  glitter x^g  coils  in  her  path. 

"  It  now  remains  but  to  name  the  champion,  just  to  prevent 
the  wrong  bird  from  fluttering  into  the  nest,"  said  Benilo, 
addressing  the  company. 

"  The  champion!  The  champion!  "  they  shouted,  breathing 
more  freely,  since  the  expected  lightning  did  not  strike. 

"Fill  the  goblets!"  Benilo  exclaimed,  and  in  a  moment 
the  wine  was  poured,  the  guests  arose  and  gathered  round  the 
central  figures. 

Benilo  raised  his  goblet  and  turned  to  Theodora,  wincing 
under  her  look  of  contempt. 

63 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

"  The  champion  is  to  be  my  choice  and  to  be  accepted 
unconditionally?  "  he  questioned. 

"  Not  so !  "  she  flashed  forth,  hah1  rising  from  her  seat, 
her  eyes  flaming  with  wrath.  "  I  would  not  have  my  words 
distorted  by  so  foul  a  thing  as  you !  It  is  to  be  the  rescuer  of 
the  girl,  he  before  whom  the  lord  Vitelozzo  slunk  away  like 
a  whipped  cur!  You  have  taunted  me  with  my  lack  of  power 
face  to  face  with  that  one  —  and  that  one  alone,  the 
only  man  among  a  crowd  of  curs!  " 

Benilo  paused,  then  he  said  with  a  hard,  cold  smile : 

"  Agreed !  "  And  he  placed  the  goblet  to  his  lips.  The 
guests  did  likewise  and  drank  the  singular  toast,  as  if  it  had 
not  implied  a  glaring  insult  to  each  present,  including  the  one 
who  reechoed  it. 

"And  now  for  his  name!"  Benilo  continued.  "Just  to 
prevent  a  mischance." 

The  irony  of  his  words  and  the  implied  insult  cut  Theodora 
to  the  quick.  With  hands  tightly  clenched  as  if  she  would 
strangle  her  tormentor,  she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  I  object!  "  she  gasped,  almost  choked  with  rage,  while  her 
startled  listeners  seemed  to  lack  even  voice  to  vent  their 
curiosity  before  this  new  and  unexpected  outburst. 

"  I  appeal  to  the  company  assembled,  who  has  witnessed 
the  wager  between  the  Queen  of  Love  and  her  faithful  and 
obedient  lover,"  Benilo  sneered,  looking  round  among  the 
guests.  "  How  know  we,  what  is  concealed  under  a  vizor,  be 
neath  a  rusty  suit  of  armour?  Security  lies  but  in  the  name  of 
the  unconscious  victim  of  Theodora's  magic,  is  it  not  so?  " 

The  smile  on  the  Chamberlain's  countenance  caused  him  to 
appear  more  repulsive  than  his  former  expression  of  wildest 
rage.  But,  prompted  by  an  invincible  curiosity,  the  guests 
unanimously  assented. 

"  Be  it  so !  "  gasped  Theodora,  sinking  back  in  her  seat. 
"  I  care  not." 

64 


THE   WAGER 

Benilo  watched  her  closely,  and  as  he  did  so  he  almost 
repented  of  his  hasty  wager.  Just  at  that  moment  his  gaze 
met  that  of  the  harper,  who  stood  like  some  dark  phantom 
behind  the  throne  of  the  Queen  of  the  Groves,  and  the  Chamber 
lain  stifled  the  misgivings,  which  had  risen  within  him.  And 
though  smiling  hi  anticipation  of  the  blow  he  was  about  to 
deliver,  a  blow  which  should  prove  the  sweetest  balm  for  the 
misery  she  had  caused  him  by  her  disdain,  he  still  wavered, 
as  if  to  torment  her  to  the  extremest  limits.  Then,  with  a 
voice  audible  in  the  remotest  parts  of  the  great  hall,  he  spoke, 
his  eye  in  that  of  Theodora,  slowly  emphasizing  each  title 
and  name: 

"  Margrave  Eckhardt  of  Meissen,  Commander-in-chief  of 
the  German  hosts!  " 

There  was  the  silence  of  death  in  the  hall. 

For  a  moment  Theodora  stared  fixed  and  immobile  as  a 
marble  statue,  her  face  pale  as  death,  while  a  thin  stream  of 
purple  wine,  spilled  from  her  trembling  goblet,  trickled  down 
her  white,  uplifted  arm.  Then  she  rushed  upon  him,  and 
knocking  the  goblet  out  of  his  hand,  causing  it  to  fall  with  a 
splintering  crash  at  Benilo 's  feet,  she  shrieked  till  the  very  walls 
re-echoed  the  words: 

"You  lie!     You  lie!" 

Benilo  crossed  his  arms  over  his  chest,  and,  looking  squarely 
into  the  woman's  eyes,  he  repeated  in  the  same  accents  of 
defiance : 

"  Margrave  Eckhardt  of  Meissen,  Commander-in-chief  of 
the  German  hosts." 

"  Again  I  tell  you  you  lie!  You  lie!  "  shrieked  the  woman, 
now  almost  beside  herself.  "  Is  there  no  one  among  all  this 
scum  here  assembled,  to  chastise  this  viper?  Hear  me!  "  she 
cried  as,  affrighted,  the  guests  shrank  back  from  her  blazing 
eyes  and  panting  breath,  while  with  all  the  superhuman 
beauty  of  a  second  Medusa  she  stood  among  them,  and  if  her 

65 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

gaze  could  have  killed,  none  would  have  survived  the  hour. 
"  Hear  me!  Benilo  has  lied  to  you,  as  time  and  again  he  has 
lied  to  me !  He,  of  whom  he  speaks,  is  dead,  —  has  died  — 
long  ago !  " 

Benilo  breathed  hard.  "  Then  he  has  arisen  from  the  dead 
and  returned  to  earth,  —  to  Rome  —  "  he  spoke  with  biting 
irony  in  his  tones.  "  A  strange  hereditary  disease  affecting 
the  members  of  his  house." 

When  he  saw  the  deadly  pallor  which  covered  the  woman's 
face,  and  the  terror  reflected  in  her  eyes,  Benilo  continued : 

"  And  deem  you  hi  all  truth,  0  sagacious  Theodora,  that 
a  word  from  the  lips  of  any  other  man  would  have  caused 
Vitelozzo  to  release  his  prey?  Deem  you  not  in  your  undoubted 
wisdom  that  it  required  a  reason,  even  weightier  than  the  blow 
of  a  gauntleted  hand,  to  accomplish  this  marvellous  feat? 
And,  —  since  you  are  dumb  hi  the  face  of  these  arguments,  — 
will  you  not  enlighten  us  all  why  Theodora,  the  beautiful,  the 
chaste,  would  deprive  him  of  the  plume,  to  whom  it  rightfully 
belongs,  —  the  German  commander,  Margrave  Eckhardt  of 
Meissen,  who  risked  his  life  to  save  that  of  our  beautiful 
queen?  " 

Theodora  turned  upon  her  tormenter  like  an  animal  at  bay. 

"  I  have  heard  enough !    I  will  not !    The  wager  is  off !  " 

And  rising  she  prepared  to  leave  the  hall  without  another 
word. 

It  would  have  been  difficult  for  the  most  profound  physiog 
nomist  to  analyze  Benilo's  feelings,  when  he  saw  his  purpose, 
his  revenge,  foiled.  Looking  up  he  met  the  enigmatic  gaze  of 
the  harper  resting  upon  him  with  a  strange  mixture  of  derision 
and  disdain. 

"  Stay !  "  Benilo  cried  to  Theodora  as  she  grasped  the  cur 
tain  in  the  act  of  pushing  it  aside.  He  knew  if  she  passed 
beyond  it,  he  had  lost  beyond  retrieve.  But  she  paused  and 
turned,  mute  inquiry  and  defiance  in  her  look. 

66 


THE   WAGER 

"  The  Queen  of  the  Groves  has  made  a  wager  before  you 
all,"  the  Chamberlain  shouted,  lashing  himself  into  the  rage 
needful  to  make  him  carry  out  his  design  unflinchingly. 
"  After  being  informed  of  the  person  of  the  champion  she  has 
repudiated  it !  The  reasons  are  plain,  —  the  champion  is 
beyond  her  reach!  The  Queen  of  the  Groves  is  too  politic  to 
play  a  losing  game,  especially  when  she  knows  that  she  is  sure 
to  lose!  The  charms  of  our  Goddess  are  great,  but  alas! 
There  is  one  man  in  Rome  whom  she  dare  not  challenge !  " 

He  paused  to  study  the  effect  of  his  words  upon  her. 

She  regarded  him  with  her  icy  stare. 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  power  —  but  of  my  will !  " 

"So  be  it!"  retorted  Benilo.  "But  since  the  Queen  of 
Love  has  refused  my  wager  for  reasons  no  doubt  good  and 
efficient,  perhaps  there  is  in  this  company  one  less  pure,  one 
less  scrupulous,  one  of  beauty  as  great,  who  might  win,  where 
Theodora  shuns  the  risk!  Will  you  take  up  the  gauntlet, 
fair  Roxane",  and  lure  to  the  Groves,  Eckhardt,  the  general  ?  " 

"  Benilo  —  beware !  " 

Shrill,  sharp  like  breaking  glass,  like  the  cry  of  a  wounded 
animal  maddened  with  rage  and  agony,  the  outcry  seemed 
wrenched  from  Theodora's  white,  drawn  lips.  Her  large, 
splendid  eyes  flashed  unutterable  scorn  upon  the  Chamberlain 
and  her  lithe  form  swayed  and  crouched  as  that  of  a  tigress 
about  to  spring. 

"  Will  Roxane"  take  the  wager?  "  Benilo  repeated  defiantly. 

The  anticipation  of  the  on-coming  contest  caused  Roxane^s 
cheek  to  blanch.  But  not  to  be  thought  deficient  in  courage, 
to  meet  her  rival,  she  replied: 

"  Since  the  Queen  of  the  Groves  shuns  the  test,  perhaps  I 
might  succeed,  where  —  " 

She  did  not  finish  the  sentence. 

Like  a  lightning  flash  Theodora  turned  from  the  man,  who 
had  roused  her  ire,  to  the  woman  who  had  stung  her  pride 

67 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

with  ill-veiled  mockery,  and  while  she  slowly  crept  towards 
her  opponent,  her  low  voice,  tremulous  with  scorn,  stung  as 
a  needle  would  the  naked  flesh. 

"  And  do  you  dream  that  Eckhardt  of  Meissen  has  aught 
to  fear  from  you,  fair  Roxane?  Deem  you,  that  the  proud 
Roxane  with  all  her  charms,  could  cause  the  general  of  the 
German  host  to  make  one  step  against  his  will?  " 

For  a  moment  the  two  women  stood  face  to  face,  measuring 
each  other  with  deadly  looks. 

"  And  what  if  I  would?  "  flashed  Roxane". 

Two  white  hands  slowly  but  firmly  encircled  her  throat. 

"  I  would  strangle  you!  "  hissed  Theodora,  her  face  deadly 
pale. 

Roxane's  cheeks  too  had  lost  their  colour.  She  knew  her 
opponent  and  she  instinctively  felt  she  had  reached  the  limit. 
She  gave  a  little  nervous  laugh  as  she  drew  Theodora's  reluctant 
hands  from  the  marble  whiteness  of  her  throat,  where  their 
touch  had  left  a  rosy  imprint. 

"  I  do  not  wish  your  Saxon  bear,"  she  said.  "  If  you  can 
tame  him,  we  come  to  his  skin !  " 

"  By  Lucifer!  "  replied  the  Queen  of  the  Groves,  "  did  I  but 
choose  to,  I  would  make  him  forget  heaven  and  hell  and  bring 
him  to  my  feet!  " 

"  How  dramatic!  "  sneered  Benilo.  "  Words  are  air!  We 
want  proofs !  " 

She  whirled  upon  him. 

"  And  what  will  become  of  the  snake,  when  the  hunter 
appears?  " 

Benilo  paled.  For  a  moment  his  arrogance  deserted  him. 
Then  he  said  with  an  ominous  scowl: 

"  Let  the  hunter  beware !  " 

She  regarded  him  with  icy  contempt.  Then  she  turned  to 
the  revellers. 

"  Since  Benilo  has  dared  to  cross  swords  with  me,"  she 

68 


THE   WAGER 

cried,  "  though  I  despise  him  and  all  of  you,  I  accept  the  chal 
lenge,  if  there  is  one  in  this  company  who  will  confirm  that  it 
was  Eckhardt  who  discomfited  Vitelozzo." 

From  the  background  of  the  hall,  where  he  had  sat  a  silent 
listener,  there  came  forward  an  individual  in  the  gaudy  attire 
of  a  Roman  nobleman.  He  was  robust  and  above  the  middle 
height,  and  the  lineaments  of  his  coarse  face  betrayed  pre 
dominance  of  brute  instincts  over  every  nobler  sentiment. 

"Vitelozzo!  Vitelozzo!"  the  guests  shouted  half  amazed, 
half  amused. 

The  robber-baron  nodded  as  he  faced  Theodora  on  the  edge 
of  the  circle. 

"  I  have  listened  to  your  discourse,"  he  snarled  curtly. 
"  For  your  opinions  I  care  not.  And  as  for  the  skullion  to 
whom  I  gave  in,  —  out  of  sheer  good  will,  —  ha,  ha!  — 
may  the  devil  pull  the  boots  from  his  legs !  —  'twas  no  meaner 
a  person  than  he,  at  whose  cradle  the  fiend  stood  sponsor, 
Eckhardt  —  the  general  —  but  I  will  yet  have  the  girl,  I'll 
have  her  yet !  " 

And  with  a  vigorous  nod  Vitelozzo  took  up  a  brimming 
decanter  and  transported  himself  into  the  background  whence 
he  had  arisen. 

His  word  had  decided  the  question. 

For  a  moment  there  was  an  intense  hush.  Then  Theodora 
spoke : 

"  Eckhardt   of   Meissen,   the   commander   of   the   German 
hosts,  shall  come  to  my  court!     He  shall  be  as  one  of  your 
selves,  a  whimpering  slave  to  my  evil  beauty!    I  will  it, — 
and  so  it  shall  be !  " 

For  a  moment  she  glanced  at  Benilo  and  the  blood  froze 
in  his  veins.  Heaven  and  earth  would  he  have  given  now  to 
have  recalled  the  fateful  challenge.  But  it  was  too  late.  For 
a  time  he  trembled  like  an  aspen.  No  one  knew  what  he 
had  read  in  Theodora's  Medusa-like  face. 

69 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

Some  of  the  revellers,  believing  the  great  tension  relieved, 
now  pushed  eagerly  forward,  surrounding  the  Queen  of  the 
Groves  and  plying  her  with  questions.  They  were  all  eager  to 
witness  a  triumph  so  difficult  to  achieve,  as  they  imagined, 
that  even  Theodora,  though  conscious  of  her  invincible 
charms,  had  winced  at  the  task. 

But  the  Queen  of  Love  seemed  to  have  exchanged  the 
attributes  of  her  trade  for  those  of  a  Fury,  for  she  turned  upon 
them  like  an  animal  wounded  to  death,  that  sees  the  hounds 
upon  its  track  and  cannot  escape. 

"Back!     All  of  you!"  she  hissed,  raising  her  arms  and 
sweeping  them  aside.     "  What  is  it  after  all  ?     Is  he  not  a 
man,  like  —  no !    Not  like  you,  not  like  you !  —  Why  should 
I  care  for  him?  —  Perhaps  he  has  wife  and  child  at  home :  — 
the  devils  will  laugh  the  louder!  " 

She  paused  a  moment,  drawing  a  deep  breath.  Then  she 
slowly  turned  towards  the  cringing  Chamberlain.  Her  voice 
was  slow  and  distinct  and  every  word  struck  him  as  the  blow 
from  a  whip. 

"  I  accept  your  wager,"  she  said,  "  and  I  warn  you  that  I 
will  win !  Win,  with  all  the  world,  with  all  your  villainy,  with 
the  Devil  himself  against  me.  Eckhardt  shall  come  to  the 
Groves!  But,"  she  continued  with  terrible  distinctness,  "if 
aught  befall  him,  ere  we  have  stood  face  to  face,  I  shall  know 
the  hand  that  struck  the  blow,  were  it  covered  by  the  deepest 
midnight  that  ever  blushed  at  your  foulness,  and  by  the 
devil,  —  I  will  avenge  it !  " 

After  these  words  Theodora  faced  those  assembled  with 
her  splendid  height  hi  all  the  glory  of  her  beauty.  Another 
moment  she  was  gone. 

For  a  time  deep  silence  succeeded. 

Never  had  such  a  scene  been  witnessed  in  the  Groves. 
Never  had  the  Queen  of  Love  shown  herself  in  so  terrible  a 
mood.  Never  had  mortal  dared  to  brave  her  anger,  to  challenge 

70 


THE   WAGER 

her  wrath.  Truly,  the  end  of  time  must  be  nigh  when  her 
worshippers  would  dare  defy  the  Goddess  of  the  Shrine. 

But  after  Theodora  had  disappeared,  the  strain  gradually 
relaxed  and  soon  wore  away  entirely.  With  all,  save  Benilo. 
His  calm  outward  demeanour  concealed  only  with  an  effort  his 
terrible  apprehensions,  as  he  mixed  freely,  to  divert  suspicion, 
with  the  revellers.  These  thought  the  moments  too  precious 
to  waste  with  idle  speculations  and  soon  the  orgy  roared  anew 
through  the  great  hall. 

Benilo  alone  had  retreated  to  its  extreme  end,  where  he 
allowed  himself  to  drop  into  a  divan,  which  had  just  been 
deserted  by  a  couple,  who  had  been  swept  away  by  the  whirling 
Bacchanale.  Here  he  sat  for  some  time,  his  face  buried  in 
his  hands,  when  looking  up  suddenly  he  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  Hezilo. 

"  I  have  done  it,"  he  muttered,  "  and  I  fear  I  have  gone  too 
far!  " 

He  paused,  scanning  the  harper's  face  for  approval. 
Its  expression  he  could  not  see,  but  there  was  no  shade  of 
reproof  in  the  voice  which  answered: 

"  At  best  you  have  but  erred  in  the  means." 

"  I  wished  to  break  her  pride,  to  humble  her,  and  now  the 
tables  are  turned;  it  is  I,  who  am  grovelling  in  the  dust." 

"  No  woman  was  by  such  means  ever  wooed  or  won,"  the 
harper  replied  after  a  brief  pause.  "  Theodora  will  win  the 
wager.  But  whether  she  win  or  lose,  she  will  despise  you  for 
ever  more !  " 

Benilo  pressed  his  hands  against  his  burning  temples. 

"  My  heart  is  on  fire !  The  woman  maddens  me  with  her 
devilish  charms,  until  I  am  on  the  verge  of  delirium." 

"  You  have  been  too  pliant!  You  have  become  her  slave! 
Her  foot  is  on  your  neck !  You  have  lost  yourself !  Better 
a  monstrous  villain,  than  a  simpering  idiot,  who  whines 
love-ditties  under  his  lady'^  bower  and  bellows  his  shams 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

to  the  enduring  stars!  Dare  to  be  a  man,  —  despite  your 
self!  " 

So  absorbed  was  Benilo  in  his  own  thoughts,  that  the  biting 
irony  of  the  other's  speech  was  lost  upon  him. 

He  extended  his  hand  to  his  strange  counsellor. 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  say :  The  Rubicon  is  passed.  I  have 
no  choice." 

The  stranger  nodded,  but  he  did  not  touch  the  proffered 
hand. 

At  last  the  Chamberlain  rose  to  leave  the  hall. 

The  sounds  of  lutes  and  harps  quivered  through  the  Groves 
of  Theodora ;  flutes  and  cymbals,  sistrum  and  tympani  mingled 
their  harmonies  with  the  tempest  of  sound  that  hovered  over 
the  great  orgy,  which  was  now  at  its  height.  The  banquet- 
hall  whirled  round  him  like  a  vast  architectural  nightmare. 
Through  the  dizzy  glare  he  beheld  perspectives  and  seemingly 
endless  colonnades.  Everything  sparkled,  glittered,  and 
beamed  hi  the  light  of  prismatic  irises,  that  crossed  and  shattered 
each  other  in  the  air.  Viewed  through  that  burning  haze  even 
the  inanimate  objects  seemed  to  have  waked  to  some  fantastic 
representation  of  life.  —  But  through  it  all  he  saw  one  face, 
supremely  fair  hi  its  marble  cold  disdain,  —  and  unable  to 
endure  the  sight  longer  Benilo  the  Chamberlain  rushed  out 
into  the  open. 

In  the  distance  resounded  the  chant  of  pilgrims  traversing 
the  city  and  imploring  the  mercy  and  clemency  of  heaven. 


CHAPTER  VI 


JOHN  OF  THE  CATACOMBS 


NCE  outside  of  the  pavillion, 
Benilo  uttered  a  sigh  of  relief. 
He  had  resolved  to  act  without 
delay.  Ere  dawn  he  would  be 
assured  that  he  held  in  his 
grasp  the  threads  of  the  web. 
There  was  no  time  to  be  lost. 
Onward  he  hurried,  the  phantom 
of  the  murdered  girl  floating 
before  his  eyes  in  a  purple  haze. 
While  bearing  himself  ostensibly  in  the  character  of  a 
mere  man  of  pleasure,  Benilo  the  Chamberlain  lost  no 
opportunity  of  ingratiating  himself  with  the  many  desperate 
spirits  who  were  to  be  found  in  the  city  ready  and 
willing  to  assist  at  any  enterprise,  which  should  tend  to 
complicate  the  machine  of  government.  While  he  rushed  into 
every  extravagance  and  pleasure,  surpassing  the  companions 
of  his  own  rank  in  his  orgies,  he  suffered  no  symptoms  of  a 
deeper  feeling  to  escape  him,  than  that  of  excellence  in  trifling, 
the  wine  cup,  the  pageant,  the  passing  show.  It  may  have 
been  a  strain  of  mongrel  blood,  filtering  through  his  veins, 
which  tempered  his  endurance  with  the  pliancy  essential  to 
intrigue,  a  strain  that  was  apparent  in  the  sculptured  regularity 
of  his  features.  His  movements  had  the  pliant  ease,  the 
stealthy  freedom  of  the  tiger.  Had  he  been  caught  like  Milo, 
he  would  have  writhed  himself  out  of  the  trap  with  the  sinuous 
persistency  of  the  snake.  There  was  something  snake-like 

73 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

in  the  small,  glittering  eyes,  the  clear  smoothness  of  the  skin. 
With  all  its  brightness  no  woman  worthy  of  the  name  but 
would  have  winced  with  womanly  instincts  of  aversion  and 
repugnance  from  his  glances.  With  all  its  beauty,  none, 
save  Otto  alone,  had  ever  looked  confidingly  into  his  face. 
Men  turned  indeed  to  scan  him  approvingly  as  he  passed, 
but  they  owned  no  sympathy  with  the  smooth,  set  brow,  the 
ever  present  smile  in  the  lips  of  Benilo  the  Chamberlain. 

After  deliberating  upon  the  course  he  was  about  to  pursue 
Benilo  approached  the  shores  of  the  Tiber.  Under  the  cypress 
avenues  it  was  dark,  and  the  air  came  up  chill  and  damp  from 
the  stream.  A  sombre  blue  over-arched  the  labyrinth  of  pillars 
and  ruins,  of  friezes  and  statues,  of  groves  and  glades  which 
lay  dreaming  in  the  pale  light  of  the  moon.  No  other  light, 
save  the  moist  glimmer  of  the  stars  whose  mist-veiled  bright 
ness  heralded  the  approach  of  a  tempest,  fell  on  the  chaos  of 
undefined  forms.  Utter  solitude,  utter  silence  prevailed. 
More  and  more  Benilo  lost  himself  in  the  wilderness  of  this 
ill-favoured  region. 

The  shortest  way  to  the  haunts  of  John  of  the  Catacombs, 
of  whom  he  was  in  immediate  search,  lay  across  the  ancient 
Alta  Semita,  where  now  the  Via  di  Porta  Pia  winds  round  the 
Quirinal  hill.  But  for  reasons  of  his  own  the  Chamberlain 
chose  to  make  a  detour,  preferring  streets  whose  deserted 
character  would  not  be  likely  to  bring  him  into  contact  with 
some  unwelcome,  nocturnal  rambler.  Wrapping  himself  more 
closely  in  his  cloak  and  looking  cautiously  about,  he  hastened 
along  the  North  Western  declivity  of  the  Quirinal  hill,  until  he 
reached  the  remains  of  a  wall  built,  so  tradition  has  it,  by 
Servius  Tullius.  This  quarter  had  ever  since  the  time  of  the 
emperors  enjoyed  the  worst  reputation  in  all  Rome.  The  streets 
were  tortuous,  the  houses,  squalid,  the  whole  surroundings 
evil.  Benilo  moved  cautiously  along  the  wall,  for  a  few  drink 
ing  shops  were  still  open  and  frequented  by  a  motley  throng, 

74 


JOHN    OF    THE    CATACOMBS 

with  whom  it  was  not  safe  to  mingle,  for  to  provoke  a  brawl, 
might  engender  grave  consequences.  Wretched  women  plied 
their  shameful  trade  by  the  light  of  flickering  clay-lamps; 
and  watery-eyed  hags,  the  outcasts  of  all  nations,  mingled 
with  sailors,  bandits  and  bravi.  Drunken  men  lay  snoring 
under  tables  and  coarse  songs  were  shouted  from  hoarse  throats, 
half  drowned  by  the  uproarious  clamour  of  two  fellows  who 
were  playing  at  dice.  Suddenly  there  was  a  commotion  fol 
lowed  by  piercing  shrieks.  The  gamblers  had  fallen  out  over 
their  pretty  stakes.  After  a  short  squabble  one  had  drawn  his 
knife  on  the  other  and  stabbed  him  hi  the  side.  The  wounded 
man  fell  howling  on  the  ground  and  the  assassin  took  to  his 
heels.  The  dancers  of  the  establishment,  heedless  of  the 
catastrophe,  began  at  once  to  rattle  their  castagnettes  and 
sway  and  whirl  in  disgraceful  pantomime. 

After  Benilo  had  passed  the  shameful  den  and  reached  the 
end  of  the  alley  he  found  himself  once  more  in  one  of  the 
waste  regions  of  the  city.  Truly  many  an  emperor  was  more 
easily  discovered  than  John  of  the  Catacombs.  The  region 
had  the  appearance  as  if  an  earthquake  had  shattered  into 
dust  the  splendid  temples  and  porticoes  of  antiquity,  so  great 
was  the  destruction,  which  confronted  him  on  every  turn. 
High  in  the  air  could  be  heard  the  hoarse  cry  of  the  vulture, 
wheeling  home  from  some  feast  of  carnage;  in  the  near-by 
marshes  the  croaking  of  the  frogs  alternated  with  the  dismal 
cry  of  the  whippoorwill. 

Suddenly  the  Chamberlain  paused  and  for  a  moment  even 
his  stout  heart  stopped  beating,  and  his  face  turned  a  ghastly 
pallor.  For  directly  before  him  there  arose  out  of  the  under 
brush,  with  back  apparently  turned  towards  him,  some  formless 
apparition  in  the  dark  habit  of  a  monk,  the  cowl  drawn  over 
his  head.  But  when  he  attained  his  natural  height,  he  faced 
Benilo,  although  the  latter  would  have  sworn  that  he  did  not 
see  him  turn. 

75 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

It  was  with  some  degree  of  fascination  that  Benilo  watched 
the  person  and  the  movements  of  this  human  monster.  What 
appeared  of  his  head  from  under  the  cowl  seemed  to  have 
become  green  with  cadaverous  tints.  One  might  say  that  the 
mustiness  of  the  sepulchre  already  covered  the  bluish  down  of 
his  skin.  His  eyes,  with  their  strong  gaze  sparkled  from 
beneath  a  large  yellowish  bruise,  and  his  drooping  jaws  were 
joined  to  the  skin  by  two  lines  as  straight  as  the  lines  of  a 
triangle.  The  bravo's  trembling  hands,  the  colour  of  yellow 
wax,  were  only  a  net-work  of  veins  and  nerves.  His  sleeves 
fluttered  on  his  fleshless  arms  like  a  streamer  on  a  pole.  His 
robe  fell  from  his  shoulders  to  his  heels  perfectly  straight 
without  a  single  fold,  as  rigid  as  the  drapery  in  the  later 
pictures  of  Cimabue  or  Orcagna.  There  appeared  to  be  nothing 
but  a  shadow  under  the  brown  cowl  and  out  of  that  shadow 
stared  two  stony  eyes.  John  of  the  Catacombs  looked  like  a 
corpse  returned  to  earth,  to  write  his  memoirs. 

At  the  sight  of  the  individual,  reputed  the  greatest  scourge 
in  Rome,  the  Chamberlain  could  not  repress  a  shudder,  and 
his  right  hand  sought  mechanically  the  hilt  of  his  poniard. 

"  Why  —  thou  art  a  merry  dog  in  thy  friar's  cowl,  Don 
Giovan,  though  it  will  hardly  save  thee  from  the  gallows," 
exclaimed  Benilo,  approaching  slowly.  "  Since  when  dost 
affect  monastic  manners?  " 

"  Since  the  fiend  is  weary  of  saints,  their  cowls  go  begging," 
a  harsh  grating  voice  replied,  while  a  hideous  sneer  lit  up  the 
almost  fleshless  skull  of  the  bravo,  as  with  his  turbid  yellow 
eyes,  resembling  those  of  a  dead  fish,  he  stared  hi  Benilo's  face. 

"  And  for  all  that,"  the  denisen  of  the  ruins  continued, 
watching  from  under  inflamed  eyelids  the  effect  his  person 
produced  on  his  Maecenas,  "  and  for  all  that  I  shall  make  as 
good  a  saint  as  was  ever  catalogued  hi  your  martyrology." 

"  The  fiend  for  aught  might  make  the  same,"  replied  Benilo. 
"  What  is  your  business  here?  " 

76 


JOHN    OF   THE    CATACOMBS 

"  Watching  over  dead  men's  bones,"  replied  the  bravo 
doggedly. 

"  Never  lie  to  the  devil,  —  you  will  neither  deceive  him 
nor  me!  Not  that  I  dispute  any  man's  right  to  be  hanged 
or  stabbed  —  least  of  all  thine,  Don  Giovan." 

"  'Tis  for  another  to  regulate  all  such  honours,"  replied 
the  bravo.  "  And  it  is  an  old  saying,  never  trust  a  horse  or 
a  woman!  " 

Benilo  started  as  if  the  bravo  had  read  his  thoughts. 

"  You  prate  hi  enigmas,"  he  said  after  a  pause.  "  I  will  be 
brief  with  you  and  plain.  We  should  not  scratch,  when  we 
tickle.  I  am  looking  for  an  honest  rogue.  I  need  a  trusty 
and  discreet  varlet,  who  can  keep  his  tongue  between  his  teeth 
and  forget  not  only  his  master's  name,  but  his  own  likewise. 
Have  you  the  quality?  " 

John  of  the  Catacombs  stared  at  the  speaker  as  if  at  a  loss 
to  comprehend  his  meaning.  Instead  of  answering  he  glanced 
uneasily  in  the  direction  of  the  river. 

"  Speak  out,  man,  my  time  is  brief,"  urged  the  Chamberlain, 
"  I  have  learned  to  value  your  services  even  hi  the  harm  you 
have  wrought,  and  if  you  will  enter  my  service,  you  shall  some 
day  hang  the  keys  of  a  nobler  tower  on  your  girdle  than  you 
ever  dreamt  of." 

The  bravo  winced,  but  did  not  reply.  Suddenly  he  raised 
his  head  as  if  listening.  A  sound  resembling  the  faint  splash 
of  an  oar  broke  the  stillness.  A  yell  vibrated  through  the  air, 
a  louder  splash  was  heard,  then  all  was  deep  silence  as  before. 

"  That  sounded  not  like  the  prayer  of  a  Christian  soul 
departing,"  Benilo  said  with  an  involuntary  shudder,  noting 
the  grin  of  satisfaction  which  passed  over  the  outlaw's  face. 
"  What  was  that  ?  " 

"  Of  my  evil  brother  an  evil  instrument,"  replied  John  of 
the  Catacombs  enigmatically. 

"  I  fear  you  will  have  to  learn  manners  hi  my  school,  Don 

77 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

Giovan,"  said  Benilo  in  return.  "  But  your  answer.  Are 
you  ready?  " 

"  This  very  night  ?  "  gasped  the  bravo,  suspecting  the  offer 
and  fearful  of  a  snare. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  demanded  the  Chamberlain  curtly. 

"  I  am  bound  in  another's  service !  " 

"  You  are  an  over-punctilious  rogue,  Don  Giovan.  To 
morrow  then !  " 

"  Agreed !  "  gurgled  the  bravo,  extending  a  monstrously 
large  hand  from  under  his  gown,  with  a  forefinger  of  ex 
traordinary  length,  on  the  end  of  which  there  was  a  wart. 

Benilo  pretended  not  to  see  the  proffered  member.  But 
before  addressing  himself  further  to  John  of  the  Catacombs 
he  glanced  round  cautiously. 

"  Are  we  alone?  " 

The  bravo  nodded. 

"  Is  my  presence  here  not  proof  enough  ?  " 

The  argument  prevailed. 

"  To  our  business  then !  "  Benilo  replied  guardedly,  seating 
himself  upon  a  fragment  of  granite  and  watching  every  gesture 
of  the  bravo. 

"  There  arrived  to-day  in  Rome,  Eckhardt  the  general. 
His  welfare  is  very  dear  to  me!  I  should  be  disconsolate 
came  he  to  harm  in  the  exercise  of  his  mission,  whatever  that 
be!" 

There  was  a  brief  pause  during  which  their  eyes  met. 

The  outlaw's  face  twitched  strangely.  Or  was  it  the  play 
of  the  moonbeams? 

"  Being  given  to  roaming  at  random  round  the  city," 
Benilo  continued,  speaking  very  slowly  as  if  to  aid  the  bravo 's 
comprehension,  "  for  such  is  their  wont  in  their  own  wilder 
nesses,  —  I  am  fearful  he  might  go  astray,  —  and  the  Roman 
temper  is  uncertain.  Yet  is  Eckhardt  so  fearless,  that  he 
would  scorn  alike  warning  or  precaution.  Therefore  I  would 

78 


JOHN    OF    THE    CATACOMBS 

have  you  dog  his  footsteps  from  afar,  —  but  let  him  not  suspect 
your  presence,  if  you  wish  to  see  the  light  of  another  morning. 
Wear  your  monk's  habit,  it  becomes  you!  You  look  as  lean 
and  hungry  and  wolfish  as  a  hermit  of  twelve  years'  halo, 
who  feeds  on  wild  roots  and  snails.  But  to  me  you  will  each 
day  report  the  points  of  interest,  which  the  German  leader 
has  visited,  that  I  too  may  become  familiar  with  their  attraction. 
Do  I  speak  plainly?  " 

"  I  will  follow  him  as  his  shadow,"  gurgled  the  bravo. 

Benilo  held  out  a  purse  which  John  of  the  Catacombs 
greedily  devoured  with  his  eyes. 

"  You  are  a  greedy  knave,"  he  said  at  last  with  a  forced 
laugh.  "  But  since  you  love  gold  so  dearly,  you  shall  feast 
your  eyes  on  it  till  they  tire  of  its  sheen.  Be  ready  at  my  first 
call  and  remember  —  secrecy  and  despatch !  " 

"  When  shall  it  be?  "  queried  the  bravo. 

"  A  matter  of  a  day  or  two  at  best  —  no  longer !  Meanwhile 
you  will  improve  your  antiquarian  learning  by  studying  the 
walks  of  Rome  in  company  with  the  German  general.  But 
remember  your  distance,  unless  you  would  meet  the  devil's 
grandame  instead  of  creeping  back  to  your  hovels.  And  where, 
by  the  way,  may  a  pair  of  good  eyes  discover  John  of  the  Cata 
combs  in  case  of  urgent  need?  " 

The  bravo  seemed  to  ponder. 

"  There  is  an  old  inn  behind  the  Forum.  It  will  save  your 
messenger  the  trouble  to  seek  me  in  the  Catacombs.  Have 
him  ask  for  the  lame  brother  of  the  Penitents,  —  but  do  not 
write,  for  I  cannot  read  it." 

Benilo  nodded. 

"  If  I  can  trust  you,  the  gain  will  be  yours,"  he  said.  "  And 
now  —  lead  the  way !  " 

John  of  the  Catacombs  preceded  his  new  patron  through 
the  tall  weeds  which  almost  concealed  him  from  view,  until 
they  reached  a  clearing  not  far  from  the  river,  whose  turbid 

79 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

waves  rolled  sluggishly  towards  Ostia.  Here  they  parted,  the 
bravo  retracing  his  steps  towards  the  region  whence  they  had 
come,  while  Benilo  made  for  the  gorge  between  Mounts 
Aventine  and  Testaccio.  It  was  an  ill-famed  vale,  noted  even 
in  remote  antiquity  for  the  gross  orgies  whence  it  had  gained 
its  evil  repute,  after  the  cult  of  Isis  had  been  brought  from 
Egypt  to  Rome. 

The  hour  was  not  far  from  midnight.  The  moon  had 
passed  her  zenith  and  was  declining  in  the  horizon.  Her 
pale  spectral  rays  cast  an  uncertain  light  over  the  region 
and  gave  the  shadows  a  weird  and  almost  threatening  promi 
nence.  In  this  gorge  there  dwelt  one  Dom  Sabbat,  half  sor 
cerer,  half  madman,  towards  whose  habitation  Benilo  now 
directed  his  steps.  He  was  not  long  reaching  a  low  structure, 
half  concealed  between  tall  weeds  and  high  boulders.  Swiftly 
approaching,  Benilo  knocked  at  the  door.  After  a  wait  of 
some  duration  shuffling  foot  steps  were  to  be  heard  within. 
A  door  was  being  unbarred,  then  the  Chamberlain  could  dis 
tinguish  the  unfastening  of  chains,  accompanied  by  a  low 
dry  cough.  At  last  the  low  door  was  cautiously  opened  and 
he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  an  almost  shapeless  form 
in  the  long  loose  habit  of  the  cloister,  ending  in  a  peaked 
cowl,  cut  as  it  seemed  out  of  one  cloth,  and  covering  the  face 
as  well  as  the  back  of  the  head,  barring  only  two  holes  for 
the  eyes  and  a  slit  for  the  mouth.  After  the  uncanny  host 
had,  by  the  light  of  a  lantern,  which  he  could  shade  at  will, 
peered  closely  into  his  visitor's  face,  he  silently  nodded,  beck 
oning  the  other  to  enter  and  carefully  barred  the  door  behind 
him.  Through  a  low,  narrow  corridor,  Dom  Sabbat  led  the 
way  to  a  sort  of  kitchen,  such  as  an  alchemist  might  use  for 
his  experiments  and  with  many  grotesque  bends  bade  his 
visitor  be  seated,  but  Benilo  declined  curtly,  for  he  was  ill  at 
ease. 

"  I  have  little  time  to  spare,"  he  said,  scarcely  noticing  the 

80 


JOHN    OF    THE    CATACOMBS 

alchemist's  obeisance,  "  and  less  inclination  to  enter  into 
particulars.  Give  me  what  I  want  and  let  me  be  gone  out  of 
this  atmosphere,  which  is  enough  to  stifle  the  lungs  of  an 
honest  man." 

"  Hi,  hi,  my  illustrious  friend,"  fawned  the  other  with  evi 
dent  enjoyment  of  his  patron's  impatience.  "  Was  the  horo 
scope  not  right  to  a  minute?  Did  not  the  charm  work  its 
unpronounced  intent  ?  " 

"  'Tis  well  you  remind  me !  It  required  six  stabs  to  finish 
your  bungling  work !  See  to  it,  that  you  do  not  again  deceive 
me!" 

"  You  say  six  stabs?  "  replied  Dom  Sabbat,  looking  up 
from  the  task  he  was  engaged  in,  of  mixing  some  substances 
in  a  mortar.  "  Yet  Mars  was  in  the  Cancer  and  the  fourth 
house  of  the  Sun.  But  perhaps  the  gentleman  had  eaten 
river-snails  with  nutmeg  or  taken  a  bath  in  snake  skins  and 
stags-antlers?  " 

"To  the  devil  with  your  river-snails!"  exploded  Benilo. 
"  The  love-philtre  and  quickly,  —  else  I  will  have  you  smoked 
out  of  your  devil's  lair  ere  the  moon  be  two  hours  older !  " 

The  alchemist  shook  his  head,  as  if  pained  by  his  patron's 
ill  temper.  Yet  he  could  not  abstain  from  tantalizing  him  by 
assuming  a  misapprehension  of  his  meaning. 

"  The  hour,"  he  mumbled  slowly,  and  with  studied  hesita 
tion,  "  is  not  propitious.  Evil  planets  are  in  the  ascendant  and 
the  influence  of  your  good  genius  is  counteracted  by  antagon 
istic  spells." 

"  Fool!  "  growled  Benilo,  at  the  same  time  raising  his  foot 
as  if  to  spurn  the  impostor  like  a  dog.  "  You  keep  but  one 
sort  of  wares  such  as  I  require,  —  let  me  have  the  strongest." 

Neither  the  gesture  nor  the  insult  were  lost  on  Dom  Sabbat, 
yet  he  preserved  a  calm  and  imperturbable  demeanour,  while, 
as  if  soliloquizing,  he  continued  his  irritating  inquiries. 

"A  love-philtre?  They  are  priceless  indeed;  —  even  a 

81 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

nun,  —  three  drops  of  that  clear  tasteless  fluid,  —  and  she  were 
yours." 

Again  Benilo's  lips  straightened  in  a  hard,  drawn  line. 
Stooping  over  the  alchemist,  he  whispered  two  words  into 
his  ear,  which  caused  Dom  Sabbat  to  glance  up  with 
such  an  expression  of  horror  that  Benilo  involuntarily  burst 
into  a  loud  laugh,  which  sent  the  other  spinning  to  his 
task. 

Ransacking  some  remote  corner  in  his  devil's  kitchen  he 
at  last  produced  a  tiny  phial,  which  he  wrapped  in  a  thin 
scroll.  This  he  placed  with  trembling  hands  into  those  eagerly 
stretched  out  to  grasp  it  and  received  therefor  a  hand  full  of 
gold  coin,  the  weight  of  which  seemed  to  indicate  that  secrecy 
was  to  constitute  no  small  portion  of  the  bargain. 

After  having  conducted  his  visitor  to  the  entrance,  where 
he  took  leave  of  him  with  many  bends  of  the  head  and  mani 
fold  protestations  of  devotion,  Dom  Sabbat  locked  his  abode 
and  Benilo  hastened  towards  the  city. 

As  he  mentally  surveyed  the  events  of  the  evening  even  to 
their  remotest  consequences,  he  seemed  to  have  neglected  no 
precaution,  nor  omitted  anything  which  might  eventually 
prevent  him  from  triumphing  over  his  opponents.  But  even 
while  reviewing  with  a  degree  of  satisfaction  the  business  of 
the  night,  terrible  misgivings,  like  dream  shadows,  drooped 
over  his  mind.  After  all  it  was  a  foolhardy  challenge  he  had 
thrown  to  fate.  Maddened  by  the  taunts  of  a  woman,  he  had 
arrayed  forces  against  himself  which  he  must  annihilate,  else 
they  would  tear  him  to  pieces.  The  time  for  temporizing  had 
passed.  He  stood  on  the  crater  of  a  volcano,  and  his  ears, 
trained  to  the  sounds  of  danger,  could  hear  the  fateful  rumbling 
in  the  depths  below. 

In  that  fateful  hour  there  ripened  in  the  brain  of  Benilo 
the  Chamberlain  a  thought,  destined  in  its  final  consequences 
to  subvert  a  dynasty.  After  all  there  was  no  security  for  him 

82 


JOHN    OF   THE    CATACOMBS 

in  Rome,  while  the  Germans  held  sway  in  the  Patrimony  of 
St.  Peter.  But  —  indolent  and  voluptuous  as  he  was  —  caring 
for  nothing  save  the  enjoyment  of  the  moment,  how  was  he 
to  wield  the  thunderbolt  for  their  destruction,  how  was  he  to 
accomplish  that,  in  which  Crescentius  had  failed,  backed  by 
forces  equal  to  those  of  the  foreigners  and  entrenched  in  his 
impregnable  stronghold  ? 

As  Benilo  weighed  the  past  against  the  future,  the  scales 
of  his  crimes  sank  so  deeply  to  earth  that,  had  Mercy  thrown 
her  weight  in  the  balance  it  would  not  have  changed  the  ulti 
mate  decree  of  Retribution.  Only  the  utter  annihilation  of 
the  foreign  invaders  could  save  him.  Eckhardt's  life  might 
be  at  the  mercy  of  John  of  the  Catacombs.  The  poison  phial 
might  accomplish  what  the  brave's  dagger  failed  to  do,  —  but 
one  thing  stood  out  clearly  and  boldly  in  his  mind ;  the  German 
leader  must  not  live !  Theodora  dared  not  win  the  wager,  — 
but  even  therein  lay  the  greater  peril.  The  moment  she 
scented  an  obstacle  in  her  path,  she  would  move  all  the  powers 
of  darkness  to  remove  it  and  it  required  little  perspicuity  to 
point  out  the  source,  whence  it  proceeded. 

At  the  thought  of  the  humiliation  he  had  received  at  her 
hands,  Benilo  gnashed  his  teeth  in  impotent  rage.  His  pride, 
his  vanity,  his  self-love,  had  been  cruelly  stabbed.  He  might 
retaliate  by  rousing  her  fear.  But  if  she  had  passed  beyond 
the  point  of  caring? 

As,  wrapt  in  dark  ruminations,  Benilo  followed  the  lonely 
path,  which  carried  him  toward  the  city,  there  came  to  him  a 
thought,  swift  and  sudden,  which  roused  the  evil  nature  within 
him  to  its  highest  tension. 

Could  his  own  revenge  be  more  complete  than  by  using  his 
enemies,  one  for  the  destruction  of  the  other?    And  as  for  the 
means,  —  Theodora  herself  would  furnish  them.    Meanwhile  - 
how  would  Johannes  Crescentius  bear  the  propinquity  of  his 
hereditary  foe,  the  emperor?    Might  not  the  Senator  be  goaded 

83 


THE  SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

towards  the  fateful  brink  of  rebellion?  Then,  —  Romans  and 
Germans  once  more  engaged  in  a  death  grapple,  —  his  own  time 
would  come,  must  come,  the  time  of  victory  and  ultimate 
triumph. 


CHAPTER  VII 


THE   VISION    OF   SAN    PANCRAZIO 

WO  days  had  elapsed  since  Eck- 
hardt's  arrival  in  Rome.  At  the 
close  of  each  day,  he  had  met 
Benilo  on  the  Palatine,  each 
time  renewing  the  topic  of  their 
former  discourse.  Benilo  had 
listened  attentively  and,  with  all 
the  eloquence  at  his  command, 
had  tried  to  dissuade  the  com 
mander  from  taking  a  step  so 
fateful  in  its  remotest  consequences.  On  the  evening  of  the 
third  day  the  Chamberlain  had  displayed  a  strange  disquietude 
and  replied  to  Eckhardt's  questions  with  a  wandering  mind. 
Then  without  disclosing  the  nature  of  the  business  which  he 
professed  to  have  on  hand,  they  parted  earlier  than  had  been 
their  wont. 

The  shades  of  evening  began  to  droop  with  phantom  swift 
ness.  Over  the  city  brooded  the  great  peace  of  an  autumnal 
twilight.  The  last  rays  of  the  sun  streaming  from  between  a 
heavy  cloud-bank,  lay  across  the  landscape  in  broad  zones  of 
brilliancy.  In  the  pale  green  sky,  one  by  one,  the  evening 
stars  began  to  appear,  but  through  the  distant  cloud-bank 
quivered  summer  lightning  like  the  waving  of  fiery  whips. 

Feeling  that  sleep  would  not  come  to  him  in  his  present 
wrought  up  state  of  mind,  Eckhardt  resolved  to  revisit  the 
spot  which  held  the  dearest  he  had  possessed  on  earth.  Per 
haps,  that  prayer  at  the  grave  of  Ginevra  would  bring  peace  to 

85 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

his  soul  and  rest  to  his  wearied  heart.  His  feet  bore  him  on 
ward  unawares  through  winding  lanes  and  deserted  streets 
until  he  reached  the  gate  of  San  Sebastiano.  There,  he  left  the 
road  for  a  turfy  hollow,  where  groups  of  black  cypress  trees 
stretched  out  their  branches  like  spectral  arms,  uplifted  to 
warn  back  intruders.  He  stood  before  the  churchyard  of 
San  Pancrazio. 

Pausing  for  a  moment  irresolutely  before  its  gloomy  portals 
Eckhardt  seemed  to  waver  before  entering  the  burial  ground. 
Hushing  his  footsteps,  as  from  a  sense  of  awe,  he  then  followed 
the  well-known  path.  The  black  foliage  drooped  heavily 
over  him;  it  seemed  to  draw  him  in  and  close  him  out  of 
sight,  and  although  there  was  scarcely  any  breeze,  the  dying 
leaves  above  rustled  mysteriously,  like  voices  whispering  some 
awful  secret,  known  to  them  alone.  A  strange  mystery  seemed 
to  pervade  the  silence  of  their  sylvan  shadows,  a  mystery, 
dread,  unfathomable,  and  guessed  by  none.  With  a  dreary 
sense  of  oppression,  yet  drawn  onward  by  some  mysterious 
force,  Eckhardt  followed  the  path,  which  here  and  there  was 
over-grown  with  grass  and  weeds.  Uneasily  he  lifted  the  over 
hanging  branches  and  peered  between  the  dense  and  luminous 
foliage.  Up  and  down  he  wistfully  gazed,  now  towards  the 
winding  path,  lined  by  old  gravestones,  leading  to  the  cloister; 
now  into  the  shadowy  depths  of  the  shrubbery.  At  times  he 
paused  to  listen.  Never  surely  was  there  such  a  silence  any 
where  as  here.  The  murmur  of  the  distant  stream  was  lost. 
The  leaves  seemed  to  nod  drowsily,  as  out  of  the  depths  of  a 
dream  and  the  impressive  stillness  of  the  place  seemed  a  silent 
protest  against  the  solitary  intruder,  a  protest  from  the  dead, 
whose  slumber  the  muffled  echo  of  his  footsteps  disturbed. 

For  the  first  time  Eckhardt  repented  of  his  nocturnal  visit 
to  the  abode  of  the  dead.  Seized  with  a  strange  fear,  his 
presence  in  the  churchyard  at  this  hour  seemed  to  him  an 
intrusion,  and  after  a  moment  or  two  of  silent  musing  he 

86 


VISION    OF   SAN    PANCRAZIO 

turned  back,  finding  it  impossible  to  proceed.  Absently  he 
gazed  at  the  decaying  flowers,  which  turned  their  faces  up  to 
him  in  apparent  wonderment;  the  ferns  seemed  to  nod  and 
every  separate  leaf  and  blade  of  grass  seemed  to  question  him 
silently  on  the  errand  of  his  visit.  Surely  no  one,  watching 
Eckhardt  at  this  place  and  at  this  hour,  if  there  was  such  a 
one  near  by  chance,  would  have  recognized  in  him  the  stern 
soldier  who  had  twice  stormed  the  walls  of  Rome. 

Onward  he  walked  as  hi  the  memory  of  a  dream,  a  strange 
dream,  which  had  visited  him  on  the  preceding  night,  and 
which  now  suddenly  waked  in  his  memory.  It  was  a  vague 
haunting  thing,  a  vision  of  a  great  altar,  of  many  candles,  of 
himself  in  a  gown  of  sack-cloth,  striving  to  light  them  and 
failing  again  and  again,  yet  still  seeing  their  elusive  glare  in 
a  continual  flicker  before  his  eyes.  And  as  he  mused  upon 
his  dream  his  heart  grew  heavy  in  his  breast.  He  had  grown 
cowardly  of  pity  and  renewed  grief. 

Following  a  winding  path,  so  overgrown  with  moss  that 
his  footsteps  made  no  sound  upon  it,  which  he  believed  would 
lead  him  out  of  the  churchyard,  Eckhardt  was  staggered  by 
the  discovery  that  he  had  walked  in  a  circle,  for  almost  di 
rectly  before  him  rose  the  grassy  knoll  tufted  with  palms, 
between  which  shone  the  granite  monument  over  Ginevra's 
grave.  Believing  at  this  moment  more  than  ever  in  his  life 
in  signs  and  portents,  Eckhardt  slowly  ascended  the  sloping 
ground,  now  oblivious  alike  to  sight  and  sound,  and  lost  in  the 
depths  of  his  own  thoughts.  Bitter  thoughts  they  were  and 
dreamily  vague,  such  as  fever  and  nightmare  bring  to  us.  Re 
lentlessly  all  the  long-fought  misery  swept  over  him  again, 
burying  him  beneath  waves  so  vast,  that  time  and  space 
seemed  alike  to  vanish.  He  knelt  at  the  grave  and  with  a 
fervour  such  as  is  born  of  a  mind  completely  lost  in  the  depths 
of  mysticism,  he  prayed  that  he  might  once  more  behold  Gi- 
nevra,  as  her  image  lived  in  his  memory.  The  vague  deep- 

87 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

rooted  misery  in  his  heart  was  concentrated  in  this  greatest  de 
sire  of  his  life,  the  desire  to  look  once  more  upon  her,  who 
had  gone  from  him  for  ever. 

After  having  exhausted  all  the  pent-up  fervour  of  his  soul 
Eckhardt  was  about  to  rise,  little  strengthened  and  less  con 
vinced  of  the  efficacy  of  his  prayer,  when  his  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  tall  apparition  of  a  woman,  who  stood  in  the  shadow 
of  the  cypress  trees  and  seemed  to  regard  him  with  a  strange 
mixture  of  awe  and  mournfulness.  With  parted  lips  and  rigid 
features,  the  life's  blood  frozen  in  his  veins,  Eckhardt  stared 
at  the  apparition,  his  face  covered  with  a  pallor  more  deadly 
than  that  of  the  phantom,  if  phantom  indeed  it  was.  A  long 
white  shroud  fell  in  straight  folds  from  her  head  to  her  feet, 
but  the  face  was  exposed,  and  as  he  gazed  upon  it,  at  once  so 
calm  and  so  passionate,  so  cold  and  yet  so  replete  with  life,  — 
he  knew  it  was  Ginevra  who  stood  before  him.  Her  eyes, 
strangely  undimmed  by  death,  burnt  into  his  very  soul,  and  his 
heart  began  to  palpitate  with  a  mad  longing.  Spreading  out 
his  arms  in  voiceless  entreaty,  the  half-choken  outcry :  "  Gi 
nevra!  Ginevra!  "  came  from  his  lips,  a  cry  in  which  was 
mingled  at  once  the  most  supreme  anguish  and  the  most 
supreme  love. 

But  as  the  sound  of  his  voice  died  away,  the  apparition  had 
vanished,  and  seemed  to  have  melted  into  air.  Only  a  lizard 
sped  over  the  stone  in  the  moonlight  and  in  the  branches  of 
the  cypress  trees  above  resounded  the  scream  of  some  startled 
night-bird.  Then  everything  faded  in  vague  unconsciousness, 
across  which  flitted  lurid  lights  and  a  face  that  suddenly  grew 
dim  in  the  strange  and  tumultuous  upheaval  of  his  senses. 
The  single  moment  had  seemed  an  hour,  so  fraught  with  strange 
and  weird  impressions. 

Dazed,  half-mad,  his  brow  bathed  in  cold  dew,  Eckhardt 
staggered  to  his  feet  and  glanced  round  like  one  waking  from 
a  dream.  The  churchyard  of  San  Pancrazio  was  deserted. 

88 


VISION    OF   SAN    PANCRAZIO 

Not  another  human  being  was  to  be  seen.  Surely  his  senses, 
strangely  overwrought  though  they  were,  had  not  deceived 
him.  Here,  —  close  beside  him,  —  the  apparition  had  stood 
but  a  moment  ago ;  with  his  own  eyes  he  had  seen  her,  yet  no 
human  foot  had  trampled  the  fantastic  tangle  of  creepers,  that 
lay  in  straggling  length  upon  the  emerald  turf.  He  lingered 
no  longer  to  reason.  His  brain  was  in  a  fiery  whirl.  Like  one 
demented,  Eckhardt  rushed  from  the  church-yard.  There 
was  at  this  moment  in  his  heart  such  a  pitiful  tumult  of  broken 
passions,  hopelessness  and  despair,  that  the  acute,  unen 
durable  pain  came  later. 

As  yet,  half  of  him  refused  to  accept  the  revelation.  The 
very  thought  crushed  him  with  a  weight  of  rocks.  Amid  the 
deceitful  shadows  of  night  he  had  fallen  prey  to  that  fear  from 
which  the  bravest  are  not  exempt  in  such  surroundings.  The 
distinctness  of  his  perception  forbade  him  to  doubt  the  testi 
mony  of  his  senses.  Yet,  what  he  had  seen,  was  altogether 
contrary  to  reason.  A  thousand  thoughts  and  surmises, 
one  wilder  than  the  other,  whirled  confusedly  through  his 
brain.  A  great  benumbing  agony  gnawed  at  his  heart.  That, 
which  he  in  reason  should  have  regarded  as  a  great  boon 
began  to  affect  him  like  a  mortal  injury.  By  fate  or  some 
mysterious  agency  he  had  been  permitted  to  see  her  once  more, 
but  the  yearning  had  increased,  for  not  a  word  had  the  ap 
parition  vouchsafed  him,  and  from  his  arms,  extended  in 
passionate  entreaty,  it  had  fled  into  the  night,  whence  it  had 
arisen. 

Accustomed  to  the  windings  of  the  churchyard,  Eckhardt 
experienced  little  difficulty  in  finding  his  way  out.  He  paced 
through  the  wastes  of  Campo  Marzio  at  a  reckless  speed,  like 
a  madman  escaped  from  his  guards.  His  brain  was  aflame; 
his  cheeks,  though  deadly  pale,  burned  as  from  the  hidden 
fires  of  a  fever.  The  phenomenon  had  dazzled  his  eyes  like 
the  keen  zigzag  of  a  lightning  flash.  Even  now  he  saw  her 

89 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

floating  before  him,  as  in  a  luminous  whirlwind,  and  he  felt, 
that  never  to  his  life's  end  could  he  banish  her  image  from  his 
heart.  His  love  for  the  dead  had  grown  to  vastness  like  those 
plants,  which  open  their  blossoms  with  a  thunder  clap.  He 
felt  no  longer  master  of  himself,  but  like  one  whose  chariot  is 
carried  by  terrified  and  uncontrollable  steeds  towards  some 
steep  rock  bristling  precipice. 

Gradually,  thanks  to  the  freshness  of  the  night-air,  Eck- 
hardt  became  a  little  more  calm.  Feeling  now  but  half 
convinced  of  the  reality  of  the  vision,  he  sought  by  the  au 
thentication  of  minor  details  to  convince  himself  that  he 
was  not  the  victim  of  some  strange  hallucination.  But 
he  felt,  to  his  dismay,  that  every  natural  explanation  tell 
short  of  the  truth,  and  his  own  argumentation  was  anything 
but  convincing. 

In  the  climax  of  wonderment  Eckhardt  had  questioned  him 
self,  whether  he  might  not  actually  be  walking  in  a  dream; 
he  even  seriously  asked  himself  whether  madness  was  not 
parading  its  phantoms  before  his  eyes.  But  he  soon  felt 
constrained  to  admit,  that  he  was  neither  asleep  nor  mad. 
Thus  he  began  gradually  to  accept  the  fact  of  Ginevra's  presence, 
as  in  a  dream  we  never  question  the  intervention  of  persons 
actually  long  dead,  but  who  nevertheless  seem  to  act  like 
living  people. 

The  moon  was  sinking  through  the  azure  when  Eckhardt 
passed  the  Church  of  the  Hermits  on  Mount  Aventine.  The 
portals  were  open;  the  interior  dimly  lighted.  The  spirit  of 
repentance  burned  at  fever  heat  in  the  souls  of  the  Romans. 
From  day-break  till  midnight,  and  from  midnight  till  day-break, 
there  rose  under  the  high  vaulted  arches  an  incessant  hum  of 
prayer.  The  penitential  cells,  the  vaults  underneath  the  chapels, 
were  never  empty.  The  crowds  which  poured  into  the  city 
from  all  the  world  were  ever  increasing,  and  the  myriad 
churches,  chapels  and  chantries  rang  night  and  day  with 

90 


VISION    OF   SAN    PANCRAZIO 

Kyrie  Eleison  litanies  and  sermons,  purporting  to  portray 
the  catastrophe,  the  hail  of  brimstone  and  fire,  until  the  terri 
fied  listeners  dashed  away  amid  shrieks  and  yells,  shaken  to 
the  inmost  depths  of  their  hearts  with  the  fear  that  was  upon 
them. 

There  were  still  some  belated  worshippers  within,  and  as 
Eckhardt  ascended  the  stone  steps,  he  was  seized  with  an 
incontrollable  desire  to  have  speech  with  Nilus,  the  hermit  of 
Gaeta,  who,  he  had  been  told,  was  holding  forth  in  the  Church 
of  the  Hermits.  To  him  he  would  confess  all,  that  sorely 
troubled  his  mind,  seeking  his  counsel  and  advice.  The  im 
mense  blackness  within  the  Basilica  stretched  vastly  upward 
into  its  great  arching  roof,  giving  to  him  who  stood  pigmy- 
like  within  it,  an  oppression  of  enormity.  Black  was  the 
centre  of  the  Nave  and  unutterably  still.  A  few  torches  in 
remote  shrines  threw  their  lugubrious  light  down  the  aisles. 
The  pale  faces  of  kneeling  monks  came  now  and  then  into  full 
relief,  when  the  scant  illumination  shifted,  stirred  by  ever  so 
faint  a  breath  of  air,  heavy  with  the  scent  of  flowers  and 
incense. 

Almost  succumbing  under  the  strain  of  superstitious  awe, 
exhausted  in  body  and  mind  by  the  strange  malady,  which  had 
seized  his  soul,  his  senses  reeling  under  the  fumes  of  incense 
and  the  funereal  chant  of  the  monks,  his  eyes  burning  with  the 
fires  of  unshed  tears,  Eckhardt  sank  down  before  the  image 
of  the  Mother  of  God,  striving  in  vain  to  form  a  coherent 
prayer. 

How  long  he  had  thus  remained  he  knew  not.  The  sound 
of  footsteps  in  the  direction  of  the  North  transept  roused  him 
after  a  time  to  the  purpose  of  his  presence.  Following  the 
direction  indicated  to  him  by  one  of  the  sacristans,  Eckhardt 
groped  his  way  through  the  dismal  gloom  towards  the  enclosure 
whsre  Nilus  of  Gaeta  was  supposed  to  hold  his  dark  sessions. 
By  the  dim  light  of  a  lamp  he  perceived  in  the  confessional  the 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

shadowy  form  of  a  monk,  and  approaching  the  wicket,  he 
greeted  the  occupant  with  a  humble  bend  of  the  head.  But, 
what  was  visible  of  the  monk's  countenance  was  little  cal 
culated  to  relieve  the  oppression  which  burdened  Eckhardt's 
soul. 

From  the  mask  of  the  converted  cynic  peered  the  eyes  of  a 
fanatic.  The  face  was  one,  which  might  have  suggested  to 
Luca  Signorelli  the  traits  of  his  Anti-Christ  in  the  Capella 
Nuova  at  Orvieto.  In  the  deep  penetrating  eyes  was  reflected 
the  final  remorse  of  the  wisdom,  which  had  renounced  its 
maker.  The  face  was  evil.  Yet  it  was  a  face  of  infinite  grief, 
as  if  mourning  the  eternal  fall  of  man. 

Despite  the  advanced  hour  of  night  the  monk  was  still  in 
his  seat  of  confession,  and  the  mighty  leader  of  the  German 
host,  wrapt  in  his  long  military  cloak,  knelt  before  the 
emaciated  anchorite,  his  face,  manner  and  voice  all  betraying 
a  great  weariness  of  mind.  A  look  of  almost  bodily  pain 
appeared  in  Eckhardt's  stern  countenance  as,  at  the  request 
of  the  monk,  who  had  receded  within  the  gloom  of  the  con 
fessional,  he  recounted  the  phenomena  of  the  night,  after 
having  previously  acquainted  him  with  the  burden  of  his  grief. 

The  monk  listened  attentively  to  the  weird  tale  and  shook 
his  head. 

"  I  am  most  strangely  in  my  senses,"  Eckhardt  urged,  noting 
the  monk's  gesture.  "  I  have  seen  her,  —  whether  in  the 
body,  or  the  spirit,  I  know  not,  —  but  I  have  seen  her." 

"  I  have  listened,  my  son,"  said  the  monk  after  a  pause,  in 
his  low  sepulchral  voice.  —  "  Ginevra  loved  you,  —  so  you 
say.  What  could  have  wrought  a  change  in  her,  such  as  you 
hint  ?  For  if  she  loved  you  in  life,  she  loves  you  in  death. 
Why  should  she  —  supposing  her  present  —  flee  from  your 
outstretched  arms?  If  your  love  could  compel  her  to  return 
from  the  beyond,  —  why  should  it  lack  the  power  to  make  the 
phantom  give  response?  " 

92 


VISION    OF    SAN    PANCRAZIO 

"  Could  I  but  fathom  that  mystery,  —  could  I  but  fathom 
it!" 

"  Did  you  not  speak  to  her?  " 

"  My  lips  but  uttered  her  name !  " 

"  I  am  little  versed  in  matters  of  this  kind,"  the  monk  re 
plied  in  a  strange  tone.  "  'Tis  but  the  natural  law,  which  may 
not  be  transgressed  with  impunity.  Is  your  faith  so  small, 
that  you  would  rather  uproot  the  holiest  ties,  than  deem  your 
self  the  victim  of  some  hallucination,  mayhap  some  jeer  of 
the  fiend  ?  Dare  you  raise  yourself  on  a  pedestal,  which  takes 
from  her  her  defenceless  virtue,  cold  and  silent  as  her  lips  are 
in  death  ?  " 

Every  word  of  the  monk  struck  Eckhardt's  heart  with  a 
thousand  pangs.  A  deep  groan  broke  from  his  lips. 

"  Madman  that  I  was,"  he  muttered  at  last,  "  to  think 
that  such  a  tale  was  fit  for  mortal  ears." 

Then  he  turned  to  the  monk. 

"  Have  you  no  solace  to  give  to  me,  no  light  upon  the  dark 
path,  I  am  about  to  enter  upon,  —  the  life  of  the  cloister, 
where  I  shall  end  my  days?  " 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Surprise  seemed  to  have  struck 
the  monk  dumb.  Eckhardt's  heart  beat  stormily  in  anticipa 
tion  of  the  anchorite's  reply. 

"  But,"  a  voice  sounded  from  the  gloom,  "  have  you 
the  patience,  the  humility,  which  it  behooves  the  recluse  to 
possess,  and  without  which  all  prayers  and  penances  are  in 
vain?  " 

"  Show  me  how  I  can  humble  myself  more,  than  at  this 
hour,  when  I  renounce  a  life  of  glory,  ambition  and  command. 
All  I  want  is  peace,  —  that  peace  which  has  forsaken  me 
since  her  death !  " 

His  last  words  died  in  a  groan. 

"  Peace,"  repeated  the  monk.  "  You  seek  peace  in  the 
seclusion  of  the  cloister,  in  holy  devotions.  I  thought  Eckhardt 

93 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

of  too  stern  a  mould,  to  be  goaded  and  turned  from  his  duty 
by  a  mere  whim,  a  pale  phantom." 

A  long  silence  ensued. 

"  Father,"  said  the  Margrave  at  last,  speaking  in  a  low  and 
broken  voice,  "  I  have  done  no  act  of  wrong.  I  will  do  no  act 
of  wrong,  while  I  have  control  over  myself.  But  the  thought 
of  the  dead  haunts  me  night  and  day.  Otto  has  no  further 
need  of  me.  Rome  is  pacified.  The  life  at  court  is  irksome 
to  me.  The  king  loves  to  surround  himself  with  perfumed 
popinjays,  discarding  the  time-honoured  customs  of  our  North 
land  for  the  intricate  polity  of  the  East.  —  There  is  no  place 
for  Eckhardt  in  that  sphere  of  mummery." 

For  a  few  moments  the  monk  meditated  in  silence. 

"  It  grieves  me  to  the  heart,"  he  spoke  at  last,  "  to  hear  a 
soldier  confess  to  being  tempted  into  a  life  of  eternal  abnegation. 
I  judge  it  to  be  a  passing  madness,  which  distance  and  work 
alone  can  cure.  You  are  not  fitted  in  the  sight  of  God  and  His 
Mother  for  the  spiritual  life,  for  in  Mezentian  thraldom  you 
have  fettered  your  soul  to  a  corpse  in  its  grave,  a  sin  as  black 
as  If  you  had  been  taken  in  adultery  with  the  dead.  Remain  in 
Rome  no  longer!  Return  to  your  post  on  the  boundaries  of 
the  realm.  There,  —  in  your  lonely  tent,  pray  nightly  to  the 
Immaculate  One  for  her  blessing  and  pass  the  day  in  the  saddle 
among  the  scattered  outposts  of  your  command!  The  monks 
of  Rome  shall  not  be  festered  by  the  presence  among  them  of 
your  fevered  soul,  and  you  are  sorely  needed  by  God  and  His 
Son  for  martial  life." 

"  Father,  you  know  not  all !  "  Eckhardt  replied  after  a  brief 
pause,  during  which  he  lay  prostrate,  writhing  in  agony  and 
despair.  "  From  youth  up  have  I  lived  as  a  man  of  war.  — 
To  this  I  was  bred  by  my  sire  and  grandsire  of  sainted  memory. 
I  have  always  hoped  to  die  on  some  glorious  field.  But  it 
is  all  changed.  I,  who  never  feared  mortal  man,  am  trembling 
before  a  shadow.  My  love  for  her,  who  is  no  more,  has  made 

94 


VISION    OF   SAN    PANCRAZIO 

me  a  coward.  I  tremble  to  think  that  I  may  not  find  her  in 
the  darkness,  whither  soon  I  may  be  going.  To  this  end 
alone  I  would  purchase  the  peace,  which  has  departed.  The 
thought  of  her  has  haunted  me  night  and  day,  ever  since  her 
death!  How  often  in  the  watches  of  the  night,  on  the  tented 
field,  have  I  lain  awake  in  silent  prayer,  once  more  to  behold 
her  face,  that  I  can  never  more  forget!  " 

There  was  another  long  pause,  during  which  the  monk 
cast  a  piercing  glance  at  the  prostrate  soldier.  Slowly  at  last 
the  voice  came  from  the  shadows. 

"  Then  you  still  believe  yourself  thus  favoured  ?  " 

"  So  firmly  do  I  believe  in  the  reality  of  the  vision,  that  I 
am  here  to  ask  your  blessing  and  your  good  offices  with  the 
Prior  of  St.  Cosmas  in  the  matter  closest  to  my  heart." 

"  Nay,"  the  monk  replied  as  if  speaking  to  himself,  "  if 
you  have  indeed  been  favoured  with  a  vision,  then  were  it 
indeed  presumptuous  in  one,  the  mere  interpreter  of  the 
will  divine,  to  oppose  your  request!  You  have  chosen  a  strict 
brotherhood,  though,  for  when  your  novitiate  is  ended,  you  will 
not  be  permitted  to  ever  again  leave  the  walls  of  the  cloister." 

"  Such  is  my  choice,"  replied  Eckhardt.  "  And  now  your 
blessing  and  intercession,  father.  Let  the  time  of  my  novitiate 
be  brief!" 

"  I  will  do  what  I  can,"  replied  the  monk,  then  he  added 
slowly  and  solemnly: 

"  Christ  accepts  your  obedience  and  service !  I  purge  you 
of  your  sins  in  the  name  of  the  Trinity  and  the  Mother  of  God, 
into  whose  holy  keeping  I  now  commit  you !  Go  in  peace !  " 

"  I  go!  "  muttered  the  Margrave,  rising  exhausted  from  his 
long  agony  and  staggering  down  the  dark  aisles  of  the  church. 

Eckhardt's  footsteps  had  no  sooner  died  away  in  the  gloom 
of  the  high-vaulted  arches,  than  two  shadows  emerged  from 
behind  a  pillar  and  moved  noiselessly  down  towards  the 
refectory. 

95 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

In  the  dim  circle  of  light  emanating  from  the  tapers  round 
the  altar,  they  faced  each  other  a  moment. 

"  What  ails  the  Teuton?  "  muttered  the  Grand  Chamberlain, 
peering  into  the  muffled  countenance  of  the  pseudo-confessor. 

"  He  upbraids  the  fiend  for  cheating  him  of  the  smile  of  a 
corpse,"  the  monk  Cyprianus  replied  with  strangely  jarring 
voice. 

"  And  yet  you  fear  I  will  lose  my  wager?  "  sneered  the 
Chamberlain. 

The  monk  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  They  have  a  proverb  in  Ferrara :  *  He  who  may  not  eat 
a  peach,  may  not  smell  at  it.'  " 

"  And  you  were  not  revealed  to  him,  you,  for  whom  he  has 
scoured  the  very  slime  of  the  Tiber?  "  Benilo  queried,  ignoring 
the  monk's  facetiousness. 

"  'Tis  sad  to  think,  what  changes  time  has  wrought," 
replied  the  latter  with  downcast  eyes.  "  Truly  it  behooves 
us  to  think  of  the  end,  —  the  end  of  time !  " 

And  without  another  word  the  monk  passed  down  the 
aisles  and  his  tall  form  was  swallowed  in  the  gloom  of  the 
Church  of  the  Hermits. 

"  The  end !  "  Benilo  muttered  to  himself  as  he  thoughtfully 
gazed  after  the  monk.  "  Croak  thou  thine  own  doom,  Cy 
prianus  !  One  soul  weighs  as  much  as  another  in  the  devil's 
balance !  " 

With  these  words  Benilo  passed  through  the  portals  of  the 
church  and  was  soon  lost  to  sight  among  the  ruins  of  the 
Aventine. 


96 


CHAPTER  VIII 


CASTEL   SAN    ANGELO 

IGHT  had  spread  her  pinions 
over  the  ancient  capital  of  the 
Caesars  and  deepest  silence  had 
succeeded  the  thousand  cries 
and  noises  of  the  day.  Few 
belated  strollers  still  lingered  in 
the  deserted  squares.  Under  the 
shadows  of  the  Borgo  Vecchio 
slow  moving  figures  could  be 
seen  flitting  noiselessly  as  phan 
toms  through  the  marble  ruins  of  antiquity,  pausing  for 
a  moment  under  the  high  unlighted  arches,  talking  in  under 
tones  and  vanishing  in  the  night,  while  the  remote  swell 
of  monkish  chants,  monotonous  and  droning,  died  on  the 
evanescent  breezes. 

Round  Castel  San  Angelo,  rising,  a  giant  Mausoleum,  vast 
and  sombre  out  of  the  solitudes  of  the  Flaminian  Way,  night 
wove  a  more  poetic  air  of  mystery  and  quiet,  and  but  for  the 
tread  of  the  ever  wakeful  sentinels  on  its  ramparts,  the  colossal 
tomb  of  the  emperor  Hadrian  would  have  appeared  a  deserted 
Memento  Mori  of  Imperial  Rome,  the  possession  of  which  no 
one  cared  to  dispute  with  the  shades  of  the  Caesars  or  the 
ghosts  of  the  mangled  victims,  which  haunted  the  intricate 
labyrinth  of  its  subterranean  chambers  and  vaults. 

A  pale  moon  was  rising  behind  the  hills  of  Albano,  whose 
ghostly  rays  cast  an  unsteady  glow  over  the  undulating  ex 
panse  of  the  Roman  Campagna,  and  wove  a  pale  silver  mount- 

97 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

ing  round  the  crest  of  the  imperial  tomb,  whose  towering 
masses  seemed  to  stretch  interminably  into  the  night,  as  if 
oppressed  with  their  own  memories. 

What  a  monstrous  melodrama  was  contained  in  yonder 
circular  walls!  They  wore  a  comparatively  smiling  look  only 
in  the  days  when  Castel  San  Angelo  received  the  dead.  Then 
according  to  the  historian  Procopius,  the  immense  three-storied 
rotunda,  surmounted  by  a  pyramidal  roof  had  its  sides  covered 
with  Parian  marble,  intersected  with  columns  and  surmounted 
with  a  ring  of  Grecian  statues.  The  first  story  was  a  quad 
rangular  basement,  decorated  with  festoons  and  tablets  of 
funeral  inscriptions,  colossal  equestrian  groups  in  gilt  bronze 
at  the  four  corners. 

Within  the  memory  of  living  generation,  this  pile  had  been 
the  theatre  of  a  tragedy,  almost  unparalleled  in  the  annals  of 
Rome,  the  scene  of  the  wildest  Saturnalia,  that  ever  stained 
the  history  of  mediaeval  state.  An  incongruous  relic  of  antique 
profligacy  and  the  monstrosities  of  the  lower  empire,  drawing 
its  fatal  power  from  feudal  institutions,  Theodora,  a  woman 
illustrious  for  her  beauty  and  rank,  had  at  the  dawn  of  the 
century  quartered  herself  hi  Castel  San  Angelo.  From  there 
she  exercised  over  Rome  a  complete  tyranny,  sustained  against 
German  influence  by  an  Italian  party,  which  counted  amongst 
its  chiefs  Adalbert,  Count  of  Tuscany,  the  father  of  this 
second  Messalina.  Her  fateful  beauty  ruled  Church  and  state. 
Theodora  caused  one  pontiff  after  another  to  be  deposed  and 
nominated  eight  popes  successively.  She  had  a  daughter  as 
beautiful  and  as  powerful  as  herself  and  still  more  depraved. 
Marozia,  as  she  was  called,  reigned  surpreme  in  Castel  San 
Angelo  and  caused  the  election  of  Sergius  III,  Anastasius  III 
and  John  X,  the  latter  a  creature  of  Theodora,  who  had  him 
appointed  to  the  bishopric  of  Ravenna.  Intending  to  deprive 
Theodora  and  her  lover,  the  Pope,  of  the  dominion  of  Rome, 
Marozia  invaded  the  Lateran  with  a  band  of  ruffians,  put  to 

98 


CASTEL    SAN   ANGELO 

the  sword  the  brother  of  the  Pope,  and  incarcerated  the  pontiff, 
who  died  hi  prison  either  by  poison  or  otherwise.  Tradition 
relates  that  his  corpse  was  placed  in  Theodora's  bed,  and 
superstition  believes  that  he  was  strangled  by  the  devil  as  a 
punishment  for  his  sins. 

Left  as  widow  by  the  premature  death  of  the  Count  of 
Tusculum  and  married  to  Guido,  Prince  of  Tuscany,  Marozia, 
after  the  demise  of  her  second  husband,  was  united  by  a  third 
marriage  to  Hugo  of  Provence,  brother  of  Guido.  Suc 
cessively  she  placed  on  the  pontifical  throne  Leo  VI  and 
Stephen  VIII,  then  she  gave  the  tiara  to  John  XI,  her  younger 
son.  One  of  her  numerous  offspring  imprisoned  hi  the  same 
dungeon  both  his  mother  and  his  brother,  the  Pope,  and  then 
destroyed  them.  Rumour  hath  it,  however,  that  a  remote 
descendant,  who  had  inherited  Marozia's  fatal  beauty,  had  been 
mysteriously  abducted  at  an  early  age  and  concealed  hi  a 
convent,  to  save  her  from  the  contamination  and  licentious 
ness,  which  ran  riot  in  the  blood  of  the  women  of  her  house. 
She  had  been  heard  of  no  more  and  forgotten  long  ago. 

After  the  changes  and  vicissitudes  of  half  a  century  the 
family  of  the  Crescentii  had  taken  possession  of  Castel  San 
Angelo,  keeping  their  state  in  the  almost  impregnable  strong 
hold,  without  which  the  possession  of  Rome  availed  but  little 
to  any  conqueror.  It  was  a  period  marked  by  brutal  passions 
and  feudal  anarchy.  The  Romans  had  degenerated  to  the  low 
estate  of  the  barbarian  hordes,  which  had  during  the  great 
upheaval  extinguished  the  light  of  the  Western  empire.  The 
Crescentii  traced  their  origin  even  to  that  Theodora  of  evil 
fame,  who  had  perished  in  the  dungeons  of  the  formidable 
keep,  and  Johannes  Crescentius,  the  present  Senator  and 
Patricius,  seemed  wrapt  in  dark  ruminations,  as  from  the  win 
dow  of  a  chamber  hi  the  third  gallery  he  looked  out  into  the 
night,  gazing  upon  the  eddying  Tiber  below,  bordered  by  dreary 
huts,  thinly  interspersed  with  ilex,  and  the  barren  wastes, 

99 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

from  which  rose  massive  watch-towers.  Far  away  to  South 
ward  sloped  the  Alban  hills.  From  the  dark  waving  greens  of 
Monte  Pincio  the  eye,  wandering  along  the  ridge  of  the  Quirinal, 
reached  to  the  mammoth  arches  of  Constantino's  Basilica,  to 
the  cypress  bluffs  of  Aventine.  Almost  black  they  looked  at 
the  base,  so  deep  was  their  shade,  contrasted  with  the  spectral 
moon-light,  which  flooded  their  eminences. 

The  chamber  in  which  the  Senator  of  Rome  paced  to  and 
fro,  was  large  and  exceedingly  gloomy,  being  lighted  only 
by  a  single  taper  which  threw  all  objects  it  did  not  touch  into 
deep  shadow.  This  fiery  illumination,  casting  its  uncertain 
glimmer  upon  the  face  of  Crescentius,  revealed  thereon  an 
expression  of  deepest  gloom  and  melancholy  and  his  thoughts 
seemed  to  roam  far  away. 

The  workings  of  time,  the  traces  of  furious  passions,  the 
lines  wrought  by  care  and  sorrow  were  evident  in  the  counte 
nance  of  the  Senator  of  Rome  and  sometimes  gave  it  in  the 
eyes  of  the  physiognomist  an  expression  of  melancholy  and 
devouring  gloom.  Only  now  and  then  there  shot  athwart 
his  features,  like  lightning  through  a  distant  cloud-bank,  a 
look  of  more  strenuous  daring  —  of  almost  terrifying  keenness, 
like  the  edge  of  a  bare  and  sharpened  sword. 

The  features  of  Johannes  Crescentius  were  regular,  almost 
severe  in  their  classic  outlines.  It  was  the  Roman  type, 
softened  by  centuries  of  amalgamation  with  the  descendants 
of  the  invading  tribes  of  the  North.  The  Lord  of  Castel  San 
Angelo  was  in  the  prime  of  manhood.  The  dark  hair  was 
slightly  touched  with  gray,  his  complexion  bronzed.  The  gray 
eyes  with  their  glow  like  polished  steel  had  a  Brutus-like 
expression,  grave  and  impenetrable. 

The  hour  marked  the  close  of  a  momentous  interview. 
Benilo,  the  Grand  Chamberlain,  had  just  left  the  Senator's 
presence.  He  had  been  the  bearer  of  strange  news  which,  if 
it  proved  true,  would  once  more  turn  the  tide  of  fortune  in 

100 


CASTEL   SAN   ANGELO 

the  Senator's  favour.  He  had  urged  Crescentius  to  make 
the  best  of  the  opportunity  —  the  moment  might  never  return 
again.  He  had  unmasked  a  plot,  the  plausibility  of  which 
had  even  staggered  the  Senator's  sagacious  mind.  At  first 
Crescentius  had  fiercely  resented  the  Chamberlain's  sugges 
tions,  but  by  degrees  his  resistance  had  lessened  and  after 
his  departure  the  course  outlined  by  Benilo  seemed  to  hold 
out  a  strange  fascination. 

After  glancing  at  the  sand-clock  on  the  table  Crescentius 
ascended  the  narrow  winding  stairs  leading  to  the  upper 
galleries  of  the  formidable  keep,  whose  dark,  blackened  walls 
were  lighted  by  tapers  hi  measured  intervals,  and  made  his 
way  through  a  dark  passage,  until  he  reached  the  door  of  an 
apartment  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  corridor.  He  knocked 
and  receiving  no  response,  entered,  closing  the  door  noiselessly 
behind  him. 

On  the  threshold  he  paused  taking  in  at  a  glance  the  picture 
before  him. 

The  apartment  was  of  moderate  size.  The  lamp  in  the 
oratory  was  turned  low.  The  windows  facing  the  Campagna 
were  open  and  the  soft  breeze  of  night  stole  into  the  flower- 
scented  room.  There  was  small  semblance  of  luxury  about  the 
chamber,  which  was  flanked  on  one  side  by  an  oratory,  on  the 
other,  by  a  sleeping  room,  whose  open  door  permitted  a  glimpse 
of  a  great,  high  bed,  hung  with  draperies  of  sarcenet. 

On  a  couch,  her  head  resting  on  her  bare,  white  arms  re 
clined  Stephania,  the  consort  of  the  Senator  of  Rome.  Tenderly 
the  night  wind  caressed  the  soft  dark  curls,  which  stole  down 
her  brow.  Her  right  hand  supported  a  head  exquisitely  beauti 
ful,  while  the  fingers  of  the  left  played  mechanically  with  the 
folds  of  her  robe.  Zoe,  her  favourite  maiden,  sat  hi  silence 
on  the  floor,  holding  in  her  lap  a  red  and  blue  bird,  which  now 
and  then  flapped  its  wings  and  gave  forth  a  strange  cry.  All 
else  was  silent  within  and  without. 

101 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

Stephania's  thoughts  dwelt  in  bygone  days. 

Listless  and  silent  she  reclined  in  her  pillows,  reviewing 
the  past  in  pictures  that  mocked  her  soul.  Till  a  few  hours 
ago  she  had  believed  that  she  had  conquered  that  madness. 
But  something  had  inflamed  her  hatred  anew  and  she  felt  like 
a  goddess  bent  upon  punishing  the  presumption  of  mortal 
man. 

The  memory  of  her  husband  holding  the  emperor's  stirrup 
upon  the  latter's  entry  into  Rome  had  rekindled  in  her  another 
thought  which  she  most  of  all  had  striven  to  forget.  It  alone 
had,  to  her  mind,  sufficed  to  make  reconciliation  to  existing 
conditions  impossible.  Shame  and  hate  seethed  anew  in  her 
soul.  She  could  have  strangled  the  son  of  Theophano  with  her 
own  hands. 

But  did  Crescentius  himself  wish  to  break  the  shackles 
which  were  forever  to  destroy  the  prestige  of  a  noble  house, 
that  had  for  more  than  a  century  ruled  the  city  of  Rome? 
Was  he  content  to  be  the  lackey  of  that  boy,  before  whom  a 
mighty  empire  bowed,  a  youth  truly,  imbued  with  the  beauty 
of  body  and  soul  which  fall  but  rarely  to  one  mortal's  lot  — 
but  yet  a  youth,  a  barbarian,  the  descendant  of  the  Nomad 
tribes  of  the  great  upheaval?  Was  there  no  one,  worthy  of 
the  name  of  a  great  Roman,  v/ho  would  cement  the  disin 
tegrated  states  of  Italy,  plant  his  standards  upon  the  Capitol 
and  proclaim  himself  lord  of  new  Roman  world?  And  he,  her 
husband,  from  whom  at  one  time  she  had  expected  such  great 
things,  was  he  not  content  with  his  lot?  Was  he  not  at  this 
very  moment  offering  homage  to  the  despised  foreigners, 
kissing  the  sandals  of  a  heretical  pope,  whom  a  bribed  Con 
clave  had  placed  in  the  chair  of  St.  Peter  through  the  armed 
manifestation  of  an  emperor's  will? 

The  walls  of  Castel  San  Angelo  weighed  upon  her  like  lead, 
since  Rome  was  again  defiled  by  these  Northern  barbarians, 
whom  her  countrymen  were  powerless  to  repulse,  whom  they 

IO2 


CASTEL    SAN   ANGELO 

dared  not  provoke  and  under  whose  insolence  they  smarted. 
Stephania  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  Then  everything  faded  from 
her  vision,  like  a  landscape  shrouded  in  mist  and  she  relapsed 
in  twilight  dreams  of  a  past  that  had  gone  forever. 

For  a  moment  Crescentius  lingered  on  the  threshold,  as  if 
entranced  by  the  vision  of  her  loveliness.  The  stern  and 
anxious  look,  which  his  face  had  worn  during  the  interview 
with  the  Chamberlain,  passed  off  like  a  summer  storm,  as  he 
stood  before  his  adored  wife.  She  started,  as  his  shadow  dark 
ened  the  doorway,  but  the  next  moment  he  was  at  her  side,  and 
taking  both  her  white  hands  in  his,  he  drew  her  towards  him 
and  gazed  with  love  and  scrutiny  into  the  velvet  depths  of 
her  eyes. 

For  a  moment  her  manner  seemed  slightly  embarrassed 
and  there  was  something  in  her  tone  which  did  not  escape  the 
Senator's  trained  ear. 

"  I  am  glad  you  came,"  she  said  after  the  usual  interchange 
of  greetings  such  as  lovers  indulge  in  when  brought  together 
after  a  brief  separation.  "  My  lord's  time  has  been  greatly 
occupied  in  the  emperor's  absence." 

Crescentius  failed  not  to  note  the  reproach  in  the  tone  of 
his  wife,  even  through  her  smile.  She  seemed  more  radiantly 
beautiful  than  ever  at  this  moment. 

"  And  what  would  my  queen  have?  "  he  asked.  "  All  I 
have,  or  ever  shall  have,  is  hers." 

"  Queen  indeed,  —  queen  of  a  sepulcher,  of  the  Mausoleum 
of  an  emperor,"  she  replied  scornfully.  "  But  I  ask  not  for 
jewels  or  palaces  —  or  women's  toys.  I  am  my  lord's  help 
mate.  I  am  to  take  counsel  in  affairs  of  state." 

A  musing  glance  broke  from  the  Senator's  eyes. 

"  Affairs  of  state,"  he  said,  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh.  "  Alas,  — 
I  hoped  when  I  turned  my  back  on  Aventine,  there  would  be 
love  awaiting  me  and  oblivion  —  in  Stephania's  arms.  But  I 
have  strange  news  for  you,  —  has  it  reached  your  ear?  " 

103 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  know  of  nothing  stranger  than  the 
prevailing  state." 

He  ignored  the  veiled  reproach. 

"  Margrave  Eckhardt  of  Meissen,  the  German  commander- 
in-chief,  is  bent  upon  taking  holy  orders.  I  thought  it  was 
an  idle  rumour,  some  gossip  of  the  taverns,  but  within  the 
hour  it  has  been  confirmed  to  me  by  a  source  whose  authen 
ticity  is  above  doubt." 

"  And  your  informant?  " 

"  Benilo,  the  Chamberlain." 

"  And  whence  this  sudden  world  weariness?  " 

"  The  mastering  grief  for  the  death  of  his  wife." 

Stephania  fell  to  musing. 

"  Benilo,"  she  spoke  after  a  time,  "  has  his  own  ends  in 
view  —  not  yours.  Trust  him  not!  " 

Crescentius  felt  a  strange  misgiving  as  he  remembered  his 
late  discourse  with  the  Chamberlain,  and  the  latter's  suggestion, 
the  primary  cause  of  his  visit  to  Stephania's  apartments. 

"  I  fear  you  mistrust  him  needlessly,"  he  said  after  a  pause. 
"  Benilo's  friendship  for  the  emperor  is  but  the  mantle,  under 
which  he  conceals  the  lever  that  shall  raise  the  Lathi  world." 

Stephania  gazed  absently  into  space. 

"  As  I  lay  dreaming  in  the  evening  light,  looking  out  upon 
the  city,  which  you  should  rule,  by  reason  of  your  name,  by 
reason  of  your  descent,  —  of  a  truth,  I  did  marvel  at  your 
patience." 

A  laugh  of  bitter  scorn  broke  from  the  Senator's  lips. 

"  Can  the  living  derive  force  and  energy  from  a  past,  that  is 
forgotten?  Rome  does  not  want  tragedies!  It  wants  to  be 
danced  to,  sung  to  and  amused.  Anything  to  make  the  rabble 
forget  their  own  abasement.  *  Panem  et  Circenses '  has 
been  for  ever  their  cry." 

"  Yet  ours  is  a  glorious  race !  Of  a  blood  which  has  flowed 
untarnished  in  the  veins  of  our  ancestors  for  centuries.  It 

104 


CASTEL    SAN   ANGELO 

has  been  our  proud  boast,  that  not  a  drop  of  the  mongrel 
blood  of  foreign  invaders  ever  tainted  our  own.  It  is  not  for 
the  Roman  rabble  I  grieve,  —  it  is  for  ourselves." 

"  You  have  wondered  at  my  patience,  Stephania,  at  my 
endurance  of  the  foreign  yoke,  at  my  seeming  indifference  to 
the  traditions  of  our  house.  Would  you,  after  all,  counsel 
rebellion?  " 

"  I  would  but  have  you  remember,  that  you  are  a  Roman," 
Stephania  replied  with  her  deep-toned  voice.  "  Stephania's 
husband,  and  too  good  to  hold  an  emperor's  stirrup." 

"  Then  indeed  you  sorely  misjudge  me,  if  you  think  that 
under  this  outward  mask  of  serene  submission  there  slumbers 
a  spirit  indifferent  to  the  cause  of  Rome.  If  the  prediction  of 
Nilus  is  true,  we  have  not  much  time  to  lose.  Send  the  girl 
away!  It  is  not  well  that  she  hear  too  much." 

The  last  words,  spoken  in  a  whisper,  caused  Stephania  to 
dismiss  the  Greek  maid.  Then  she  said: 

"  And  do  you  too,  my  lord,  believe  in  these  monkish 
dreams?  " 

"  The  world  cannot  endure  forever." 

Crescentius  paused,  glanced  round  the  apartment,  as  if  to 
convince  himself  that  there  was  no  other  listener.  Then  he 
rose,  and  strode  to  the  curtain,  which  screened  the  entrance 
to  an  inner  chamber.  Not  until  he  had  convinced  himself 
that  they  were  alone,  did  he  resume  his  seat  by  the  side  of 
Stephania.  Then  he  spoke  in  low  and  cautious  accents: 

"  I  have  brooded  over  the  present  state,  until  I  am  well 
nigh  mad.  I  have  brooded  ever  since  the  first  tidings  of  Otto's 
approach  reached  the  city,  how  to  make  a  last,  desperate  dash 
for  freedom  and  our  old  rights.  I  have  conceived  a  plan,  as 
yet  known  to  none  but  to  myself.  Too  many  hunters  spoil 
the  chase.  We  cannot  count  on  the  people.  Long  fasts  and 
abstinences  have  made  them  cowards.  Let  them  listen  to  the 
monks !  Let  them  howl  their  Misereres !  I  will  not  break  into 

105 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

their  rogue's  litany  nor  deprive  them  of  their  chance  in  pur 
gatory." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  as  if  endeavouring  to  bring  order 
into  his  thoughts,  then  he  continued,  slowly. 

"  It  is  but  seemly  that  the  Romans  in  some  way  requite 
the  affection  so  royally  showered  on  them  by  the  German 
King.  Therefore  it  is  in  my  mind  to  arrange  such  festivities 
in  honour  of  Otto's  return  from  the  shrines  of  Monte  Gargano, 
as  shall  cause  him  to  forget  the  burden  of  government." 

"  And  enhance  his  love  for  our  sunny  land,  "  Stephania 
interposed. 

"  That  malady  is  incurable,"  Crescentius  replied.  "  Otto 
is  a  fantastic.  He  dreams  of  making  Rome  the  capital  of  the 
earth,  —  a  madness  harmless  in  itself,  were  it  not  for  Bruno 
in  the  chair  of  St.  Peter.  Single  handed  their  efforts  might  be 
stemmed.  Their  combined  frenzy  will  sweep  everything  before 
it.  These  festivities  are  to  dazzle  the  eyes  of  the  stalwart 
Teutons  whose  commander  is  a  very  Cerberus  of  watch 
fulness.  Under  the  cover  of  merry-making  I  shall  introduce 
into  Castel  San  Angelo  such  forces  from  the  Calabrian  themes 
as  will  supplant  the  lack  of  Roman  defenders.  And  as  for 
the  Teutons  —  their  souls  will  be  ours  through  our  women ; 
their  bodies  through  our  men." 

Crescentius  paused.  Stephania  too  was  silent,  less  sur 
prised  at  the  message  than  its  suddenness.  She  had  never 
wholly  despaired  of  him.  Now  his  speech  revealed  to  her 
that  Crescentius  could  be  as  crafty  in  intrigue  as  he  was  bold 
in  warfare.  Proud  as  she  was  and  averse  to  dissimulation 
the  intrigue  unmasked  by  the  Senator  yet  fascinated  her,  as 
the  only  means  to  reach  the  long  coveted  goal.  "  Rome  for 
the  Romans  "  had  for  generations  been  the  watchword  of  her 
house  and  so  little  pains  had  she  taken  to  disguise  her  feelings 
that  when  upon  some  former  occasion  Otto  had  craved  an 
audience  of  her,  an  unheard  of  condescension,  inspired  as  much 

1 06 


CASTEL    SAN    ANGELO 

by  her  social  position  as  by  the  fame  of  her  unrivalled  beauty, 
the  imperial  envoy  had  departed  with  an  ill-disguised  rebuff, 
and  Stephania  had  shut  herself  up  within  the  walls  of  a 
convent  till  Otto  and  his  hosts  had  returned  beyond  the  Alps. 

"  Within  one  week,  Eckhardt  is  to  be  consecrated,"  Cres- 
centius  continued  with  slight  hesitation,  as  if  not  quite  assured 
of  the  directness  of  his  arguments  with  regard  to  the  request 
he  was  about  to  prefer.  "  Every  pressure  is  being  brought 
to  bear  upon  him,  to  keep  him  true  to  his  purpose.  Even  a 
guard  is  —  at  Benilo's  instigation  —  to  be  placed  at  the  portals 
of  St.  Peter's  to  prevent  any  mischance  whatsoever  during  the 
ceremony." 

He  paused,  to  watch  the  effect  of  his  speech  upon  Stephania 
and  to  ascertain  if  he  dared  proceed.  But  as  he  gazed  into 
the  face  of  the  woman  he  loved,  he  resolved  that  not  a  shadow 
of  suspicion  should  ever  cloud  that  white  brow,  caressed  by 
the  dark  wealth  of  her  silken  hair. 

"  The  German  leader  removed  for  ever,"  Crescentius  con 
tinued,  "  immured  alive  within  the  inexorable  walls  of  the 
cloister  —  small  is  indeed  the  chance  for  another  German 
victory." 

"  But  will  King  Otto  acquiesce  to  lose  his  great  leader?  " 

"  Benilo  is  fast  supplanting  Eckhardt  hi  Otto's  favour. 
Benilo  wishes  what  Otto  wishes.  Benilo  sees  what  Otto  sees. 
Benilo  speaks  what  Otto  thinks.  Rome  is  pacified;  Rome  is 
content;  Rome  is  happy;  what  need  of  heavy  armament? 
Eckhardt  reviles  the  Romans,  —  he  reviles  Benilo,  he  reviles 
the  new  state,  —  he  insists  upon  keeping  his  iron  hosts 
in  the  Neronian  field,  —  within  sight  of  Castel  San  Angelo. 
It  was  to  be  Benilo  or  Eckhardt  —  you  know  the  result." 

"  But  if  you  were  deceived,"  Stephania  replied  with  a 
shudder.  "  Your  eagle  spirit  often  ascends  where  mine  fails 
to  follow.  Yet,  —  be  not  over-bold." 

"  I  am  not  deceived !  I  bide  my  time.  'Tis  not  by  force 

107 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

men  slay  the  rushing  bull.  Otto  would  regenerate  the 
Roman  world.  But  he  himself  is  to  be  the  God  of  his  new 
state,  a  jealous  God  who  brooks  no  rival  —  only  subjects  or 
slaves.  He  has  nursed  this  dream  until  it  is  part  of  himself, 
of  his  own  flesh  and  blood.  What  may  you  expect  of  a  youth, 
who,  not  content  to  absorb  the  living,  calls  the  dead  to  his  aid? 
He  shall  nevermore  recross  the  Alps  alive." 

Crescentius'  tone  grew  gloomy  as  he  continued. 

"  I  bear  the  youth  no  grudge,  nor  ill-will.  —  But  Rome 
cannot  share.  He  has  a  power  of  which  he  is  himself  un 
conscious;  it  is  the  inheritance  from  his  Hellenic  mother. 
Were  he  conscious  of  its  use,  hardly  the  grave  would  be  a  safe 
refuge  for  us.  Once  Rome  triumphed  over  Hellas.  Shall 
Hellas  trample  Rome  in  the  dust  in  the  person  of  this  boy, 
whose  unspoken  word  will  sweep  our  old  traditions  from  the 
soil?  " 

"  But  this  power,  this  weakness  as  you  call  it  —  what  is 
it?  "  Stephania  interposed,  raising  her  head  questioningly. 
"  I  know  you  have  not  scrutinized  the  armour,  which  encases 
that  fantastic  soul,  without  an  effort  to  discover  a  flaw." 

"  And  I  have  discovered  it,"  Crescentius  replied,  his  heart 
beating  strangely.  Stephania  herself  was  leading  up  to  the 
fatal  subject  of  his  visit;  but  in  the  depths  of  his  soul  he 
trembled  for  fear  of  himself,  and  wished  he  had  not  come. 

"  And  what  have  you  discovered? "  Stephania  persisted 
curiously. 

"  The  weak  spot  in  the  armour,"  he  replied,  avoiding  her  gaze. 

"  Is  there  a  remedy?  " 

"  We  lack  but  the  skilful  physician." 

Stephania  raised  herself  from  her  recumbent  position. 
With  pale  and  colourless  face  she  stared  at  the  speaker. 

"  Surely  —  you  would  not  resort  to  —  " 

She  paused,  her  lips  refusing  to  utter  the  words. 

Crescentius  shook  his  head. 

1 08 


CASTEL   SAN   ANGELO 

"  If  such  were  my  desire,  the  steel  of  John  of  the  Catacombs 
were  swifter.  No,  —  it  is  not  like  that,"  he  continued  musingly, 
as  if  testing  the  ground  inch  by  inch,  as  he  advanced.  "  A 
woman's  hand  must  lead  the  youth  to  the  fateful  brink.  A 
woman  must  enwrap  him  and  entrap  him;  a  woman  must 
cull  the  hidden  secrets  from  his  heart ;  —  a  woman  must  make 
him  forget  time  and  eternity,  forget  the  volcano,  on  whose 
crater  he  stands,  —  until  the  great  bell  of  the  Capitol  shall 
toll  the  hour  of  doom  for  German  dominion  in  Rome." 

He  paused,  trembling,  lest  she  might  read  and  anticipate 
the  thoughts  of  his  heart. 

But  she  seemed  not  to  guess  them,  for  with  a  smile  she  said : 

"  They  say  the  boy  has  never  loved." 

"  Thereon  have  I  built  my  plans.  Some  Circe  must  be 
found  to  administer  to  him  the  fatal  lotus,  —  to  estrange 
him  from  his  country,  from  his  leaders,  from  his  hosts." 

"  But  where  is  one  to  be  trusted  so  supremely?  "  she 
questioned. 

Crescentius  had  anticipated  the  question. 

"  There  is  but  one  in  all  Rome  —  but  one." 

"  And  she?  "  the  question  came  almost  in  a  whisper.  "  Do 
you  know  her?  " 

Crescentius  breathed  hard.  For  a  moment  he  closed  his 
eyes,  praying  inwardly  for  courage.  At  last  he  replied  with 
seeming  indifference: 

"  I  have  known  her  long.  She  is  loyal  to  Rome  and  true  to 
herself." 

"  Her  name?  "  she  insisted. 

"  Stephania." 

A  wild  laugh  resounded  in  the  chamber.  Its  echoes  seemed 
to  mock  those  two,  who  faced  each  other,  trembling,  colourless. 

"  That  was  Benilo's  advice." 

Like  a  knife-thrust  the  words  from  Stephania's  lips  pierced 
the  heart  of  the  Senator  of  Rome. 

109 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

Stephania  stared  at  him  in  such  bewilderment,  as  if  she 
thought  him  mad.  But  when  he  remained  silent,  when  she 
read  hi  his  downcast  eyes  the  mute  confirmation  of  his  speech, 
she  sprang  from  her  couch,  facing  him  in  the  whole  splen 
dour  of  her  beauty. 

"  Surely  you  are  jesting,  my  lord,  or  else  you  rave,  you  are 
mad?  "  she  cried.  "  Or  can  it  be,  that  my  ears  tinkle  with 
some  mockery  of  the  fiend?  Speak!  You  have  not  said  it! 
You  did  not!  You  dared  not." 

She  removed  a  stray  lock  of  hair  from  her  snow  white  brow, 
while  her  eyes  burnt  into  those  of  Crescentius,  like  two  orbs 
of  living  fire. 

"  Your  ears  did  not  belie  you,  Stephania,"  the  Senator  said 
at  last.  "  I  said  you  are  the  one  —  the  only  one." 

With  these  words  he  took  her  hands  in  his  and  attempted  to 
draw  her  down  beside  him,  but  she  tore  them  from  his  grasp, 
while  her  face  alternately  paled  and  flushed. 

"  Nay,"  she  spoke  with  cutting  irony,  "  the  Senator  of  Rome 
is  a  model  husband.  He  disdains  the  dagger  and  poison 
phial,  instead  he  barters  his  wife.  You  have  an  admirable  code 
of  morality,  my  lord!  'Tis  a  pity  I  do  not  share  your  views, 
else  the  fiend  might  teach  me  how  to  profit  by  your  suggestion." 

Crescentius  did  not  interrupt  the  flow  of  her  indignation, 
but  his  face  betrayed  a  keenness  of  anguish  which  did  not 
escape  Stephania's  penetrating  gaze.  She  approached  him  and 
laying  her  hands  on  his  shoulders  bade  him  look  her  in  the  eye. 

"  How  could  you  say  this  to  me?  "  she  spoke  in  softer,  yet 
reproachful  tones.  "  How  could  you?  Has  it  come  to  the 
pass  where  Rome  can  but  be  saved  by  the  arts  of  a  wanton? 
If  so,  then  let  Rome  perish,  —  and  we  ourselves  be  buried  under 
her  ruins." 

Her  eyes  reflected  her  noble,  undaunted  spirit  and  never  had 
Stephania  appeared  more  beautiful  to  the  Senator,  her  husband. 

"  Your  words  are  the  seal  of  loyalty  upon  your  soul,  Ste- 

no 


CASTEL    SAN    ANGELO 

phania,"  Crescentius  replied.  "  Think  you,  I  would  cast 
away  my  jewel,  cast  it  before  these  barbarians?  But  you  do 
not  understand.  I  will  be  more  plain.  It  was  not  that  part 
you  were  to  assume." 

Stephania  resumed  her  seat  by  his  side.  Her  bosom  heaved 
and  her  eyes  peered  dimly  through  a  mist  of  tears. 

"  Of  all  the  hosts  who  crossed  the  Alps  with  him,"  Cres 
centius  spoke  with  a  voice,  unsteady  at  first,  but  gradually 
gaming  the  strength  of  his  own  convictions,  "  none  shares  the 
emperor's  dreams,  none  his  hopes  of  reconstruction.  An 
embassy  from  the  Palatinate  is  even  now  on  the  way,  to  demand 
his  return.  —  Not  he !  But  there  is  one,  the  twin  of  his  mind 
and  soul  —  Gregory  the  Pontiff,  who  will  soon  have  his  hands 
full  with  a  refractory  Conclave,  and  will  not  be  able  to  succour 
his  friend  in  the  realization  of  his  fantastic  dreams.  He  must 
be  encouraged,  —  his  watchfulness  beguiled  until  we  are 
strong  enough  to  strike  the  final  blow.  Only  an  intellect 
equal  to  his  own  dares  assail  the  task.  He  must  be  led  by  a 
firm  hand,  by  a  hand  which  he  trusts  —  but  by  a  hand  never 
forgetful  of  its  purpose,  a  hand  closed  to  bribery  of  chattel  or 
soul.  He  must  be  ruled  by  a  mind  that  grasps  all  the  strange 
excrescences  of  his  own  diseased  brain.  Let  him  build  up  his 
fantastic  dream-empire,  while  Rome  rallies  her  forces  for  a 
final  reckoning,  then  let  the  mirage  dissolve.  This  is  the  part 
I  had  assigned  to  you.  I  can  entrust  it  to  none  else.  Our  hopes 
hang  upon  the  fulfilment.  Thus,  his  hosts  dissatisfied,  the 
electors  muttering  beyond  the  Alps,  the  Romans  awakening 
to  their  own  disgrace,  the  king  at  odds  with  his  leaders 
and  himself,  the  pontiff  menaced  by  the  hostile  Cardinals,  there 
is  one  hope  left  to  us,  to  crush  the  invaders  —  our  last.  If  it 
miscarries,  —  there  will  not  be  gibbets  enough  in  the  Cam- 
pagna  for  the  heads  that  will  swing." 

Stephania  had  gradually  regained  her  composure.  Raising 
her  eyes  to  those  of  Crescentius,  she  said  with  hesitation : 

in 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

"  There  is  truth  in  your  words,  but  I  like  not  the  task.  I 
hate  Otto  with  all  my  Roman  heart;  with  all  my  soul  do  I 
hate  that  boy  whose  lofty  aims  shame  our  depravity.  'Tis 
an  ill  time  for  masks  and  mummeries.  Why  not  entrust  the 
task  to  the  one  so  eminently  fitted  for  it,  —  Benilo,  the  glittering 
snake?  " 

"  There  will  be  work  enough  for  all  of  us,"  Crescentius 
replied  evasively.  Somehow  he  hated  to  admit  even  to  his 
wife,  that  he  mistrusted  the  Chamberlain's  serpent  wisdom. 
He  had  gone  too  far.  He  dared  not  recede  without  betraying 
his  own  misgivings. 

Stephania  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do?  " 

"  You  have  so  far  studiously  avoided  the  king.  You  have 
not  even  permitted  him  to  feast  his  eyes  on  the  most  beautiful 
woman  in  all  Rome.  Be  gracious  to  him,  enter  into  his 
vagaries,  point  out  to  him  old  temples  and  forgotten  tombs, 
newly  dug-up  friezes  and  musty  crypts !  Tell  him  of  our  legends 
and  lead  him  back  into  the  past,  from  whose  labyrinth  no 
Ariadne  will  guide  him  back  to  the  present  hour,  -  It  is  for 
Rome  I  ask." 

"  Truly,  were  I  a  man,  I  would  not  trap  my  foe  by  woman's 
wiles,  as  long  as  I  could  grip  mace  or  lance.  Is  there  no  man 
among  all  these  Romans  of  yours  treacherous  enough  for 
the  task?  " 

"  It  is  even  their  treachery  I  dread,"  replied  Crescentius. 
"  Ambition  or  the  lust  of  gain  may  at  the  last  moment  carry 
victory  from  the  field.  My  maxim,  you  know:  Trust  none  — 
Fear  none!  These  festivities  are  to  dazzle  the  aim  of  sus 
picion,  to  attach  the  people  once  more  to  our  cause  and  to 
give  you  the  desired  opportunity  to  spread  your  nets.  Then 
lead  him  step  for  step  away  from  life,  until  he  shall  himself 
become  but  a  spectre  of  the  past." 

"  It  is  a  game  unworthy  of  you  and  me,"  Stephania  replied 

112 


CASTEL    SAN    ANGELO 

after  a  long  pause.  "  To  beguile  a  trusting  foe  —  but  the  end? 
What  is  it  to  be?  " 

"  Once  in  the  councils  of  the  king,  you  will  lull  his  sus 
picions  to  slumber!  You  will  counteract  the  pressure  of  his 
flaxen-haired  leaders!  You  will  make  him  a  puppet  hi  your 
hands,  that  has  no  will  save  yours.  Then  sound  the  watch 
word:  Rome  and  Crescentius!  " 

"  I  too  love  glory,"  Stephania  spoke  almost  inaudibly. 
"  Glory  achieved  by  valour,  not  intrigue.  Give  me  time,  my 
lord.  As  yet  I  hardly  know  if  I  am  fitted  for  the  high  mission 
you  have  laid  out  for  me.  Give  me  but  time." 

"  There  shall  be  no  further  mention  of  this  matter  between 
us,"  Crescentius  replied.  "  You  will  be  worthy  of  your  self 
and  of  Rome,  whose  fates  I  have  laid  into  your  hands.  The 
task  is  grave,  but  great  will  be  the  reward.  Where  will  the 
present  state  lead  to?  Is  there  to  be  no  limit  to  humiliation? 
Is  every  rebellion  unlawful?  Has  Fate  stamped  on  our  brow, 
Suffer  and  be  silent  ?  " 

"  For  whom  then  is  this  comedy  to  be  enacted?  " 

Crescentius  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Say  for  ourselves  if  you  will.  Deem  you,  Stephania,  I 
would  put  my  head  in  the  sling  for  that  howling  mob  down 
yonder  in  their  hovels?  For  the  rabble  which  would  stone  him, 
who  gives  them  bread  ?  Or  for  the  barons  of  Rome,  who 
have  encroached  upon  our  sovereignty  ?  If  Fate  will  but  grant 
me  victory,  their  robber  dens  shall  crumble  into  dust,  as  if 
an  earthquake  had  levelled  them.  For  this  I  have  planned  this 
Comedy  of  Love  —  for  this  alone." 

Stephania  slowly  rose  from  her  seat  beside  the  Senator. 
Every  vestige  of  colour  had  faded  from  her  face. 

"  Surely  I  have  not  heard  aright,"  she  said.  "  Did  you  say 
'  Comedy  of  Love  '  ?  " 

Crescentius  laughed,  a  low  but  nervous  laugh. 

"  Why  stare  you  so,  Stephania,  as  if  I  bade  you  in  all  truth 

"3 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

to  betray  me?  Is  it  so  hard  to  feign  a  little  affection  for 
this  wingless  cherub  whom  you  are  to  mould  to  your  fancies? 
The  choice  is  his,  —  until  —  " 

"  Until  it  is  his  no  longer,"  Stephania  muttered  under  her 
breath,  which  quickly  came  and  went. 

There  was  a  pause  of  some  duration,  during  which  the 
Senator  of  Rome  restlessly  paced  the  apartment.  Stephania 
had  resumed  her  former  station  and  seemed  lost  in  deep 
rumination.  From  without  no  sounds  were  audible.  The 
city  slept.  The  evening  star  burnt  low  down  in  the  horizon. 
The  moon  sickle  slept  on  the  crests  of  the  mountains  of  Albano. 

At  last  Stephania  rose  and  laid  her  white  arm  on  the  shoulder 
of  the  Senator  of  Rome. 

"  I  will  do  your  bidding,"  she  said  slowly,  looking  straight 
into  his  eyes,  "  for  the  glory  of  Rome  and  your  own!  " 

"  For  our  glory,"  Crescentius  replied  with  a  deep  sigh  of 
relief.  "  I  knew  you  would  not  fail  me  in  this  hour  of  need." 

Stephania  raised  her  hand,  as  if  deprecating  the  reward. 

"  For  your  glory  alone,  my  lord,  —  it  will  suffice  for  both 
of  us,"  she  replied  hurriedly,  as  her  arms  sank  down  by  her 
side. 

"  Be  it  so,  since  you  so  wish  it,"  Crescentius  replied.  "  I 
thank  you,  Stephania!  And  now  farewell.  It  waxes  late  and 
grave  matters  of  state  require  my  instant  attention.  Await 
not  my  return  to-night." 

And  kissing  her  brow,  Crescentius  hurriedly  left  his  wife's 
apartment  and  ascended  a  spiral  stairway,  leading  to  the 
chamber  of  his  astrologer.  Suddenly  he  staggered,  as  if  he 
had  seen  his  own  ghost  and  turned  sick  at  heart. 

"  What  have  I  done !  "  he  gasped,  grasping  his  forehead 
with  both  hands.  "  What  have  I  done!  " 

Was  it  a  presentiment  that  suddenly  rushed  over  him, 
prompting  him  to  retrace  his  steps,  prompting  him  to  take 
back  his  request?  For  a  moment  he  wavered.  His  pride  and 

114 


CASTEL    SAN   ANGELO 

his  love  struggled  for  supremacy,  —  but  pride  conquered. 
He  would  not  have  Stephania  think  that  he  feared  a  rival  on 
earth.  He  would  not  have  her  believe  that  he  questioned 
her  love. 

After  Crescentius  had  departed  from  the  chamber,  Stephania 
gazed  long  and  wistfully  into  the  starlit  night  without,  so 
calm  and  so  serene. 

Then  a  laugh,  wild  and  shrill,  broke  from  her  lips,  and 
sinking  back  among  her  cushions,  a  shower  of  tears  came  to 
her  relief. 


CHAPTER  IX 


THE    SERMON    IN   THE  GHETTO 


HE  Contubernium  Hebraeorum, 
as  it  is  loftily  styled  in  the 
pontifical  edicts  of  the  time, 
the  Roman  Ghetto,  was  a  dis 
trict  of  considerable  extent, 
reclaimed  originally  from  the 
swamps  of  the  Tiber  at  the  foot 
of  the  Capitoline  Hill,  and  sur 
rounded  either  by  lofty  walls, 
or  houses  which  were  not  per 
mitted  to  have  even  a  loop-hole  to  the  exterior.  Five  massive 
gates,  guarded  by  the  halberdiers  of  the  Roman  magistrate 
were  opened  at  sun-rise  and  closed  at  sun-set  to  emit  and  to 
receive  back  their  jealously  guarded  inmates,  objects  of  un 
utterable  contempt  and  loathing  with  the  populace,  into  whose 
heart  the  Catholic  Church  of  the  Middle  Ages  had  infused  a 
veneration  and  love  for  the  person  of  the  Redeemer  rather 
than  for  his  attributes,  and  whose  passions  and  devotions  were 
as  yet  unalloyed  by  the  skepticism  and  indifference  which 
began  to  pervade  the  higher  ranks  of  society  in  the  century 
of  the  Renaissance. 

Three  or  four  times  a  year,  a  grand  attempt  at  conversion 
was  made,  the  Pope  appointing  the  most  renowned  ecclesiastics 
to  deliver  the  sermons. 

On  the  occasion  about  to  be  described  towards  the  end  of 
the  year  999,  the  Jews  had  good  reason  to  expect  a  more  than 
commonly  devout  throng  in  the  train  of  the  pontifical  delegate. 

116 


THE  SERMON  IN  THE  GHETTO 

They  had  prepared  accordingly.  Upon  entering  the  gates  of 
the  Ghetto  the  beholder  was  struck  with  the  dreary  and  melan 
choly  aspect  of  the  houses  and  the  emptiness  of  the  little  shops 
which  appeared  like  holes  in  the  walls.  Such  precious  wares 
as  they  possessed  had  been  as  carefully  concealed  as  those 
they  had  abstracted  on  the  eve  of  their  departure  from  Egypt. 
The  exceeding  narrowness  of  the  streets,  which  were  in  some 
parts  scarcely  wide  enough  to  allow  two  persons  to  walk 
abreast,  and  seemed  in  a  manner  arched,  in-as-much  as  one 
story  extended  above  the  others,  increased  the  disagreeable 
effect.  Noisome  smells  greeted  the  nostrils  on  every  turn  and 
the  flutter  of  rags  from  numerous  dark  lattices  seemed  to 
testify  to  the  poverty  within. 

Such  the  Roman  Ghetto  appeared  on  the  eve  of  the  great 
harangue  for  which  the  reigning  Pontiff,  Gregory  V,  had,  in 
accordance  with  the  tradition  of  the  Holy  See,  delegated  the 
most  renowned  light  of  the  church.  Not  a  Jew  was  to  be  seen, 
much  less  a  Jewess,  throughout  the  whole  line  of  march  from 
the  gates  of  the  Ghetto  to  the  large  open  square  where  they 
held  their  markets,  and  where  they  had  been  summoned  to 
assemble  in  mass.  The  long  narrow  and  intricate  windings 
misled  many  who  did  not  keep  pace  with  the  Pope's  delegate 
and  his  attendants,  but  the  greater  part  of  the  rabble  rushed 
into  the  square  like  a  mountain  stream,  leaping  over  opposing 
boulders,  shouting,  laughing,  yelling  and  crushing  one  another, 
as  if  they  were  taking  possession  of  a  conquered  city. 

The  square  itself  was  paved  with  volcanic  tufa,  very  un 
evenly  laid.  In  the  center  was  a  great  fountain  of  granite 
without  the  least  ornament,  intended  exclusively  for  the  use  of 
the  inmates  of  this  dreary  quarter.  Into  this  square  radiated 
numberless  streets  and  alleys  giving  its  disordered  architecture 
the  appearance  of  being  reft  and  split  into  chasms,  some  of  the 
houses  being  doubtfully  propped  with  timbers. 

Round  the  fountain  stone  benches  had  been  arranged  with 

117 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

tables  of  similar  crude  material,  at  which  usually  sat  the 
Elders,  who  decided  all  disputes,  regulated  the  market  and 
governed  this  inner  empire  partly  by  the  maxims  of  common 
sense  and  justice,  partly  by  the  laws  prescribed  by  their  sacred 
books,  severe  indeed  and  executed  with  rigour,  without 
provoking  a  thought  of  appeal  to  the  milder  and  often  opposing 
Christian  judicature. 

But  now  this  Sanhedrim  was  installed  in  its  place  of  honour 
for  a  different  purpose;  to  hear  with  outward  complacency 
and  inner  abhorrence  their  ancient  law  denounced  and  its 
abolition  or  reform  advocated.  For  this  purpose  a  movable 
pulpit,  which  resembled  a  bronze  caldron  on  a  tripod,  carried 
by  four  Jewish  converts,  was  duly  planted  under  the  supreme 
direction  of  ihe  companion  friar  of  the  pontifical  delegate, 
who  ordered  its  position  reversed  several  times,  ere  it  seemed 
to  suit  his  fancy. 

The  delegate  of  the  Pope  himself,  surrounded  by  the  pontifical 
guards,  was  still  kneeling  in  silent  prayer,  when  a  stranger, 
who  had  followed  the  procession  from  afar,  entered  the  Ghetto, 
unremarked  in  the  general  tumult  and  esconced  himself  out 
of  observation  in  a  dark  doorway.  From  his  point  of  vantage, 
Eckhardt  had  leisure  to  survey  the  whole  pandemonium. 
On  his  left  there  rose  an  irregular  pile  of  wood-work,  built  not 
without  some  pretentions  to  architecture,  with  quaint  carvings 
and  devices  of  birds  and  beasts  on  the  exposed  joints  and  win 
dow-frames,  but  in  a  state  of  ruinous  decay.  About  midheight 
sloped  a  pent-house  with  a  narrow  balcony,  supported  like  many 
of  the  other  buildings  by  props  of  timber,  set  against  it  from 
the  ground.  The  lower  part  of  the  house  was  closed  and  barred 
and  had  the  appearance  of  having  been  forsaken  for  decades. 

While,  himself  unseen  Eckhardt  surveyed  every  detail  of 
his  surroundings ;  the  preparations  for  the  sermon  continued. 
Beyond  the  seats  of  the  Elders  was  assembled  the  great  mass 
of  those  who  were  to  profit  by  the  exhortation,  remarkable 

118 


THE  SERMON  IN  THE  GHETTO 

for  their  long  unkempt  beards,  their  glittering  eyes  and  their 
peculiar  physiognomies. 

Beyond  the  circle  of  these  compelled  neophytes  a  tumultuous 
mob  struggled  for  the  possession  of  every  point,  whence  a  view 
of  the  proceedings  could  be  obtained,  quarrelling,  scoffing  and 
buffeting  the  unresisting  Jews,  whose  policy  it  was  not  to  offer 
the  least  pretext  for  pillage  and  general  massacre,  which  on 
these  occasions  hovered  over  their  heads  by  a  finer  thread 
than  that  to  which  hung  the  sword  of  Damocles.  Without 
expostulations  they  submitted  to  the  rude  swaying  of  the  mob, 
to  their  blows  and  revilings,  opposing  to  their  tormentors  a 
seemingly  inexhaustible  endurance.  But  the  horror,  anxiety, 
and  rage  which  glowed  in  their  bosoms  were  strongly  reflected 
in  their  faces,  peering  through  the  smoky  glare  of  innumerable 
torches,  which  they  were  compelled  to  exhibit  at  all  the  windows 
of  their  houses.  Engaged  in  this  office  only  now  and  then  a 
woman  appeared  for  a  brief  instant,  for  the  most  part  withered 
and  old,  or  veiled  and  muffled  with  more  than  Turkish  scrupu 
lousness. 

At  last  the  pulpit  was  duly  hoisted  and  placed  to  the  satis 
faction  of  the  attending  friar.  The  Pope's  delegate  having 
concluded  his  prayer  arose  and  two  of  the  Elders  advanced, 
to  present  him  with  a  copy  of  the  Old  Testament,  for  from  their 
own  laws  were  they  to  be  refuted.  They  offered  it  with  a  deep 
Oriental  bend  and  the  humble  request,  that  the  representative 
of  his  Holiness,  their  sovereign,  would  be  pleased  to  deliver  his 
message.  The  monk  replied  briefly  that  it  was  not  the  message 
of  any  earthly  power  which  he  was  there  to  deliver  and  then 
mounted  the  pulpit  by  a  ladder,  which  his  humbler  associate 
held  for  him.  The  attendant  friar  then  sprinkled  a  lustration 
round  the  pulpit  with  a  bunch  of  hyssop,  which  he  had  dipped 
in  an  urn  of  holy  water.  This  he  showered  liberally  upon  the 
Elders  who  dared  not  resent  it,  and  ground  their  teeth  in 
impotent  rage. 

119 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

Strangely  interested,  as  Eckhardt  found  himself  in  the 
scene  about  to  be  enacted,  watching  the  rolling  human  sea 
under  the  dark  blue  night-sky,  he  found  his  own  curiosity 
shared  by  a  second  personage,  who  had  taken  his  position 
immediately  below  the  door- way,  in  which  he  stood  concealed. 
This  worthy  wore  a  large  hat,  slouched  over  his  face,  which 
gave  him  the  appearance  of  a  peasant  from  the  marshes;  but 
bis  dirty  gray  mantle  and  crooked  staff  denoted  him  a  pilgrim. 
Of  his  features  very  little  was  to  be  seen,  save  his  glittering 
minx-eyes.  These  he  kept  fixed  on  the  balcony  of  the  ruined 
house,  which  had  also  attracted  Eckhardt's  attention.  At 
other  times  that  worthy's  gaze  searched  the  shadows  be 
neath  the  gloomy  structure  with  something  of  mingled 
scrutiny  and  scorn. 

"  Surely  this  boasted  steel-hearted  knave  of  yours  means 
to  play  us  false  ?  Where  is  the  rogue  ?  He  keeps  us  waiting 
long." 

These  words,  as  Eckhardt  perceived,  were  addressed  to  an 
individual,  who,  to  judge  from  the  mask  he  wore,  did  not  wish 
to  be  recognized. 

"  Were  it  against  the  fiend,  I  would  warrant  him,"  answered 
a  hushed  voice.  "  But  folks  here  have  a  great  reverence  for 
this  holy  man,  who  goes  to  comfort  a  plague-stricken  patient 
more  cheerfully  than  another  visits  his  lady-love.  And,  if 
he  needs  must  die,  were  it  not  wiser  to  venture  the  de^d  in 
some  of  the  lonely  places  he  haunts,  than  here  hi  the  midst 
of  thousands  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  replied  his  companion  in  an  undertone,  every 
word  of  which  was  understood  by  his  unseen  listener. 
"  Here  alone  can  a  tumult  be  raised  without  much  danger, 
and  as  easily  quelled.  I  do  not  set  forests  on  fire,  to  warm 
my  feet.  Here  they  will  lay  the  mischief  to  the  Jews  —  else 
where,  suspicion  would  be  quickly  aroused,  for  what  bravo 
would  deem  it  worth  his  while  to  slay  a  wretched  monk  ?  " 

120 


THE  SERMON  IN  THE  GHETTO 

Again  the  pseudo-pilgrim's  associate  peered  into  the  shadows. 
Then  he  plucked  his  companion  by  the  sleeve  of  his  mantle. 

"  Yonder  he  comes  —  and  by  all  my  sins  —  streaming  like 
a  water-dog!  Raise  your  staff,  but  no  —  he  sees  us,"  con 
cluded  the  masked  individual,  shrinking  back  into  the  shadows. 

Presently  a  third  individual  joined  the  pilgrim  and  his 
friend. 

"  Don  Giovan !  Thou  dog !  How  long  hast  kept  me  gaping 
for  thee!  "  the  principal  speaker  hissed  into  the  bravo 's  face 
as  he  limping  approached.  "  But,  by  the  mass,  —  who  baptized 
thee  so  late  in  life  ?  " 

There  was  something  demoniacal  in  the  sunken,  cadaverous 
countenance  of  John  of  the  Catacombs,  as  he  peered  into  the 
speaker's  eyes.  His  ashen-pale  face  with  the  low  brow  and 
inflamed  eyelids,  never  more  fittingly  illustrated  a  living 
sepulchre.  He  growled  some  inarticulate  reponse,  half  stifled 
by  impotent  rage  and  therefore  lost  upon  his  listener.  For  at 
this  moment  the  voice  of  the  preacher  was  heard  above  all 
the  confused  noise  and  din  in  the  large  square,  reading  a  He 
brew  text,  which  he  subsequently  translated  into  Latin.  It 
was  the  powerful  voice  of  the  speaker,  which  prevented  Eck- 
hardt  from  distinctly  hearing  the  account  which  the  bravo 
gave  of  his  forced  immersion.  But  towards  the  conclusion  of 
his  talk,  the  pilgrim  drew  the  bravo  deeper  into  the  shadows 
of  the  overhanging  balcony  and  now  their  conversation  became 
more  distinct. 

"  Dog  of  a  villain!  "  he  addressed  John  of  the  Catacombs. 
"  How  dare  you  say  that  you  will  fail  me  in  this  ?  Have  you 
forgotten  our  compact  ?  " 

"  That  I  have  not,  my  lord,"  replied  the  bravo,  shuddering 
with  fear  and  the  cold  of  his  dripping  garments.  "  But  an 
angel  was  sent  for  the  prevention  of  the  deed !  No  man  would 
have  braved  John  of  the  Catacombs  and  lived." 

"  Thou  needest  not  proclaim  my  rank  before  all  this  rabble," 

121 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

growled  the  pseudo-pilgrim.  "  Have  I  not  warned  thee,  idiot  ? 
Deemest  thou  an  angel  would  have  touched  thee,  without 
blasting  thee  ?  What  had  thine  assailant  to  do  to  stir  up 
the  muddy  waves  ?  An  angel !  Coward  ?  Is  the  bribe  not 
large  enough  ?  Name  thine  own  hire  then !  " 

"  A  pyramid  of  gold  shall  not  bribe  me  to  it,"  replied  the 
bravo  doggedly.  "  But  I  am  a  true  man  and  will  keep  no 
hire  which  I  have  not  earned.  So  come  with  me  to  the  cata 
combs,  and  I  will  restore  all  I  have  received  of  your  gold. 
But  the  saints  protect  that  holy  man  —  I  will  not  touch 
him!" 

The  pilgrim  regarded  the  speaker  with  ill-repressed  rage. 

"  Holy  —  maybe  —  ,"  he  sneered,  "  holy,  according  to  thy 
country's  proverb :  '  La  Cruz  en  los  pechos,  el  diablo  en  los 
hechos.'  Thou  superstitious  slave!  What  has  one  like  thou 
to  fear  from  either  angel  or  devil  ?  " 

"  May  my  soul  never  see  paradise,  if  I  lift  steel  against  that 
holy  man !  "  persisted  the  bravo. 

"Fool!  Cowara!  Beast!"  snarled  the  pilgrim,  gnashing 
his  teeth  like  a  baffled  tiger.  "  You  refuse,  when  this  monk's 
destruction  will  set  the  mob  in  such  roaring  mutiny  as  will 
give  your  noble  associates,  whom  I  see  swarming  from  afar, 
a  chance  to  commence  a  work  that  will  enrich  you  for  ever  ?  " 

"  For  ever  ?  "  repeated  the  bravo,  somewhat  dubiously. 
"  But  —  it  is  impossible.  See  you  not  he  is  surrounded  by 
the  naked  swords  of  the  guards  ?  I  thought  he  would  have 
come  darkling  through  some  narrow  lane,  according  to  his 
wont,  else  I  should  never  —  moreover  I  have  taken  an  oath, 
my  lord,  and  a  man  would  not  willingly  damn  himself !  " 

"  Will  you  ever  and  ever  forget  my  injunction  and  how 
much  depends  upon  its  observance?  "  snarled  the  disguised 
pilgrim,  looking  cautiously  around.  "  I  warn  you  again,  not 
to  proclaim  my  rank  before  all  your  cut-throats!  You  swore," 
he  then  continued  more  sedately,  "  not  to  lift  steel  against 

122 


THE  SERMON  IN  THE  GHETTO 

him!  But  have  I  not  seen  you  bring  down  an  eagle's  flight 
with  your  cross-bow  ?  Where  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  sold  it  to  some  foreign  lord,  from  beyond  the 
Alps,  where  they  love  such  distant  fowling,"  the  bravo  re 
plied  guardedly.  "  I  for  my  part  prefer  to  steal  my  game  with 
a  club,  or  a  dagger." 

"  You  have  no  choice!  Wait!  I  think  I  can  yet  provide 
you  with  a  weapon  such  as  you  require!  I  have  for  some 
time  observed  yonder  worthy,  whoever  he  may  be,  staring  at 
that  old  bower,  as  if  it  contained  some  enchanted  princess," 
said  the  pilgrim,  emerging  slightly  from  under  the  shadows 
of  the  doorway  and  beckoning  John  of  the  Catacombs  to  his 
side.  This  movement  brought  the  two  —  for  the  third  seemed 
to  be  engaged  in  a  look-out  for  probable  danger  —  closer 
to  Eckhardt,  but  luckily  without  coming  in  contact  with 
him,  for  it  may  be  conjectured  that  he  had  no  desire  to 
expose  himself  to  a  conflict  in  the  dark,  with  three  such 
opponents. 

The  personage  indicated  by  the  disguised  pilgrim  had  in 
deed  for  some  time  been  engaged  in  scrutinizing  the  form  of 
a  young  girl,  who,  seemingly  attracted  by  the  novelty  of  the 
scene  below  had  appeared  behind  a  window  of  the  apparently 
deserted  house,  vainly  soliciting  her  attentions  with  gestures 
and  smiles.  He  was  of  middling  height,  but  very  stout  and 
burly  of  frame,  a  kind  of  brutal  good  humour  and  joviality 
being  not  entirely  unmingled  with  his  harsher  traits. 

"  By  the  mass !  "  the  disguised  pilgrim  turned  to  the  object 
of  his  scrutiny,  in  whom  we  recognize  no  lesser  a  personage 
than  Gian  Vitelozzo,  as  he  cautiously  approached  and  saluted 
him.  "  I  see  your  eyes  are  caught  too !  " 

He  winked  at  the  window  which  seemed  to  hold  the  fascina 
tion  for  the  other,  then  nodded  approval. 

"  Saw  you  ever  a  prettier  piece  of  flesh  and  blood  ?  " 

"  Yet  she  looks  more  like  a  waxen  image  than  a  woman 

123 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

of  the  stuff  you  mention,  Sir  Pilgrim,"  returned  the  nobleman 
in  a  barbarous  jargon  of  tenth  century  Latin. 

"  She  is  poisoned  by  the  stench  amid  which  she  lives,  and 
it  were  charity  to  take  her  out  of  it,"  replied  the  pilgrim, 
with  a  swift  glance  at  the  cross-bow  slung  over  the  other's 
shoulders. 

"  Ay,  by  the  mass!  You  speak  truth!  "  affirmed  Vitelozzo, 
while  a  fourth  personage,  whom  he  had  not  heretofore  observed, 
had  during  their  discourse  emerged  from  the  shadows  and 
had  silently  joined  the  survey. 

"  Would  the  whole  Ghetto  were  put  to  plunder!  "  sighed 
the  baron,  turning  to  the  pilgrim,  "  but  I  am  under  severe 
penance  now  by  order  of  the  Vicar  of  the  Church." 

"  You  must  indeed  have  wrought  some  special  deed  of 
grace,  to  need  his  intercession,"  the  pilgrim  sneered  with 
disgusting  familiarity. 

Vitelozzo  peered  into  the  face  of  his  interlocutor,  doubtful 
whether  to  resent  the  pleasantry  or  to  feel  flattered.  Then  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  'Twas  but  for  relieving  an  old  man  of  some  few  evil  days 
of  pains  and  aches,"  he  then  replied  carelessly.  "  But  since 
we  are  at  questioning,  —  what  merit  is  yours  to  travel  so  far 
with  the  cockle-shells  ?  Surely  'twas  not  just  to  witness  the 
crumbling  of  this  planet  into  its  primeval  dust  ?  " 

"  They  say  —  I  killed  my  brother,"  replied  the  disguised 
pilgrim  coldly. 

"  Mine  was  but  my  uncle,"  said  Vitelozzo  eagerly,  as  if 
rejoicing  in  the  comparative  inferiority  of  his  crime.  "  'Tis 
true  he  had  pampered  me,  when  a  child,  but  who  can  wait 
for  ever  for  an  inheritance  ?  " 

"  Ay  —  and  old  men  never  die,"  replied  the  pseudo-pilgrim 
gloomily.  "  You  are  a  bold  fellow  and  no  doubt  a  soldier  too," 
he  continued,  simulating  ignorance  of  the  other's  rank,  in 
order  to  gain  his  point.  "  I  have  been  a  good  part  of  mine 

124 


THE  SERMON  IN  THE  GHETTO 

a  silly  monk.  As  you  see,  I  am  still  in  the  weeds.  Yet  I  will 
wager,  that  I  dare  do  the  very  thing,  which  you  are  even  now 
but  daring  to  think." 

"  What  am  I  thinking  then  ?  I  pray  your  worship  enlighten 
my  poor  understanding,"  replied  the  nobleman  sarcastically. 

"  You  are  marking  how  conveniently  those  timbers  are  set 
to  the  balcony  of  yonder  crow's  nest,  for  a  man  to  climb  up 
unobserved,  and  that  you  would  be  glad  if  you  could  summon 
the  courage  to  scale  it  to  the  scorn  of  this  circumcized  mob," 
said  the  pilgrim. 

Vitelozzo  laughed  scornfully. 

"  For  the  fear  of  it  ?  I  have  clambered  up  many  a  strong 
wall  with  only  my  dagger's  aid,  when  boiling  lead  poured  down 
among  us  like  melting  snow  and  the  devil  himself  would  have 
kept  his  foot  from  the  ladder.  But,"  he  concluded  as  if  re 
membering  that  it  behooved  not  his  own  dignity  to  continue 
parley  with  the  pilgrim,  "  who  are  you,  that  you  dare  bandy 
words  with  me  ?  " 

The  pilgrim  considered  it  neither  opportune  nor  discreet  to 
introduce  himself. 

"  My  staff  against  your  cross-bow,"  he  replied  boastfully 
instead.  "  You  dare  not  attempt  it  and  I  will  succeed  in  it!  " 

"  By  the  foul  fiend!  Not  until  I  have  failed,"  replied  Vite 
lozzo,  colouring.  "  Hold  my  cross-bow  while  I  climb.  But 
if  you  mean  mischief  or  deceit,  know  better  than  to  practise 
it,  for  I  am  not  what  I  seem,  but  a  great  lord,  who  would  as 
soon  crack  your  empty  pate  as  an  egg!  " 

The  pseudo-pilgrim  replied  apparently  with  some  warmth, 
but  as  the  preacher's  tone  now  rose  above  the  surrounding 
buzz  only  the  conclusion  of  his  speech  was  audible,  wherein 
he  declared  that  he  would  restore  the  noble's  cross-bow  or 
rouse  his  friends  to  his  assistance  in  the  event  of  danger. 
This  compact  concluded  Eckhardt  noted  that  the  Roman 
baron  gave  his  helmet,  cross-bow  and  other  accoutrements, 

125 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

which  were  likely  to  prove  an  impediment,  into  the  care  of 
the  pilgrim,  and  prepared  to  accomplish  his  insolent  purpose. 

The  disguised  pilgrim,  whose  identity  Eckhardt  had  vainly 
endeavoured  to  estabish,  now  retired  instantly  and  rejoined 
his  companions,  who  had  been  eagerly  listening  in  their  con 
cealment  under  the  doorway.  The  newcomer,  who  had  for 
a  time  swelled  their  number,  had  retreated  unobserved  after 
having  concluded  his  observations,  as  it  seemed,  to  his  satis 
faction,  for  Eckhardt  saw  him  nod  to  himself  ere  he  vanished 
from  sight. 

"  Here  then  is  a  weapon,  Don  Giovan,  if  you  would  not 
rather  have  the  point  in  your  own  skull,"  the  pilgrim  said, 
handing  the  bravo  a  small  bow  of  peculiar  construction  which 
Vitelozzo  was  wont  to  carry  on  his  fowling  expeditions,  as  he 
styled  his  nightly  excursions. 

"  Moreover,"  the  pilgrim  continued  encouragingly,  noting 
the  manifest  reluctance  on  the  part  of  the  bravo,  "  I  have 
caused  you  a  pretty  diversion.  When  the  tumult,  which  this 
villain  will  raise,  shall  begin,  you  have  but  to  adjust  the  arrow 
and  watch  the  monk's  associate.  When  he  raises  his  hand  — 
let  fly!  " 

John  of  the  Catacombs  shivered,  but  did  not  reply,  while 
Eckhardt  scrutinized  the  monk  indicated  by  the  pilgrim, 
as  well  as  the  glare  of  the  torches  and  their  delusive  light 
would  permit.  But  his  face  being  averted,  he  again  turned 
his  attention  to  the  trio  in  the  shadows  below. 

The  pontifical  delegate  meanwhile  continued  his  sermon  as 
unconcerned  as  if  his  deadliest  enemy  did  not  stand  close  beside 
him  ready  to  imprint  on  his  brow  the  pernicious  kiss  of  Judas. 

"  Fear  you  aught  for  your  foul  carcass  and  the  thing  you 
call  your  soul  ?  "  the  pilgrim  snarled,  seemingly  exasperated 
by  the  reluctance  of  the  instrument  to  obey  the  master's  behest. 
"  Fear  you  for  your  salvation,  when  so  black  a  wretch  as 
Vitelozzo  —  for  I  know  the  ruffian,  who  slew  his  benefactor,  — 

126 


THE  SERMON  IN  THE  GHETTO 

hazards  both  for  a  fool's  frolic  ?  The  monk  is  a  fair  mark ! 
Look  but  at  him  perched  in  the  pulpit  yonder,  with  his  arms 
spread  out  as  if  he  would  fly  straightway  to  heaven !  " 

"  He  looks  like  a  black  crucifixion,"  muttered  the  bravo 
with  a  shudder. 

"  Tush,  fool !  You  can  easily  conceal  yourself  in  these 
shadows,  for  the  blame  will  fall  on  the  Jews  and  the  uproar 
which  I  will  raise  at  different  extremities  of  the  crowd  will 
divert  all  attention  from  the  perpetrator  of  the  deed!  " 

John  of  the  Catacombs  seemed  to  yield  gradually  to  the 
force  of  the  other's  arguments.  The  deed  accomplished,  it  had 
been  agreed  that  they  would  dive  into  the  very  midst  of  the 
congested  throngs  and  urge  the  inflamed  minds  to  the  exter 
mination  of  the  hated  race  of  the  Ghetto. 

Eckhardt's  consternation  upon  listening  to  this  devilish 
plot  was  so  great,  that  for  a  time  he  lost  sight  of  the  would- 
be  assailant  of  the  young  girl,  whom  he  was  unable  to  see 
from  his  concealment  almost  directly  beneath  the  balcony. 
Again  he  was  staggered  by  the  dilemma  confronting  him, 
how  best  to  direct  his  energies  for  the  prevention  of  the  double 
crime.  To  rush  forth  and,  giving  a  signal  to  the  pontifical 
guards,  to  proclaim  the  intended  treachery,  would  perhaps  in 
any  other  country,  age  or  place  have  been  sufficient  to  counter 
act  the  plot.  But  in  this  case  it  was  most  likely  to  secure  the 
triumph  of  the  offenders.  It  was  far  from  improbable,  that 
the  projectors  of  this  deed  of  darkness,  upon  finding  their 
sinister  designs  baffled,  would  fall  combined  upon  whosoever 
dared  to  cross  their  path,  and  silence  him  for  ever  ere  he  had 
time  to  reveal  their  real  purpose.  In  the  rancorous  irritation 
and  mutually  suspicious  state  of  men's  minds  the  least  spark 
might  kindle  a  universal  blaze.  The  fears  and  hatred  of  both 
parties  would  probably  interpret  the  first  flash  of  steel  into  a 
signal  for  preconcerted  massacre  and  the  very  consequences 
sought  to  be  averted  would  inevitably  follow. 

127 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

A  further  circumstance  which  baffled  Eckhardt  was  the 
cause  of  the  implacable  hatred,  which  the  moving  spirit  of  the 
trio  seemed  to  bear  the  pontifical  delegate.  But  the  sagacious 
intellect  of  the  man  into  whose  hands  fate  had  so  opportunely 
placed  a  lever  for  preventing  a  crime,  whose  consequences  it 
was  difficult  to  even  surmise,  suggested  these  dangers  and 
their  remedies  almost  simultaneously.  Thus  he  patiently 
awaited  the  separation  of  the  colleagues  on  their  several  enter 
prises,  regarding  the  monk  with  renewed  interest  in  this  new 
and  appalling  light. 

His  tall  and  commanding  form  was  to  be  seen  from  every 
point.  The  austerity  and  gloom  of  the  speaker's  countenance 
only  seemed  to  aid  in  displaying  more  brilliantly  the  irradia 
tions  of  the  mind  which  illumined  it.  His  harangue  seemed 
imbued  with  something  of  supernatural  inspiration  and  dark 
as  had  appeared  to  Eckhardt  the  motive  for  the  contemplated 
crime,  the  probable  reason  suddenly  flashed  through  his 
mind.  For  hi  the  pulpit  stood  Gerbert  of  Aurillac,  Archbishop 
of  Rheims,  Bishop  of  Ravenna,  the  teacher  of  the  Emperor, 
the  friend  of  the  Pontiff,  he  who  was  so  soon  as  Sylvester  II 
to  be  crowned  with  the  Triple  Tiara  of  St.  Peter. 

But  there  was  no  time  for  musing  if  the  double  crime  was 
to  be  prevented.  For  John  of  the  Catacombs,  who  had  now 
turned  his  back  on  the  crowds,  had  possessed  himself  of 
Vitelozzo's  cross-bow  and  was  tightening  the  bow-strings. 
With  equal  caution,  to  avoid  betraying  his  presence,  Eckhardt 
unsheathed  his  sword.  But  the  jar  of  the  blade  against  the 
scabbard,  though  ever  so  slight,  startled  the  outlaw's  atten 
tion.  He  paused  for  a  moment,  listening  and  glancing  fur 
tively  about.  Then  he  muttered  to  himself:  "A  rat,"  and 
resumed  his  occupation,  while  Eckhardt  slowly  stepped  from 
his  concealment,  taking  his  station  directly  behind  the  kneeling 
bravo,  unseen  by  the  pilgrim  and  the  latter 's  silent  companion. 

A  brilliant  glow,  emanating  from  some  mysterious  source 

128 


THE  SERMON  IN  THE  GHETTO 

near  the  monk  and  which  many  afterwards  contended  as 
having  proceeded  directly  from  his  person,  suddenly  illumined 
not  only  the  square,  the  pontifical  delegate,  and  the  monk, 
who  held  his  arms  aloft  as  if  imploring  a  benediction,  but  like 
wise  the  towering  form  of  Eckhardt,  leaning  on  his  bare  and 
glittering  brand. 

With  a  yell  as  if  he  had  seen  a  wild  beast  crouching  for  its 
deadly  spring,  John  of  the  Catacombs  sprang  up,  only  to  be 
instantly  struck  down  by  a  mighty  blow  from  the  commander's 
gauntleted  hand.  He  lay  senseless  on  the  ground,  covered 
with  blood.  The  bow  had  fallen  from  his  grasp.  Setting  his 
foot  on  the  outlaw's  breast,  Eckhardt  hesitated  for  a  moment 
whether  to  rid  Rome  of  so  monstrous  a  villain,  or  spare  him, 
in  order  to  learn  the  real  instigators  of  the  crime,  when  a 
piercing  shriek  from  above  convinced  him  that  while  the  bravo 
had  failed,  the  high-born  ruffian  had  been  more  successful. 

There  was  no  time  for  parley. 

Trampling  with  his  crushing  weight  over  the  bravo's  breast 
Eckhardt  turned  towards  the  spot  whence  the  cry  of  distress 
had  come.  An  intense  hush  fraught  with  doubts  and  fears 
had  fallen  upon  the  monk's  audience  at  the  ominous  outcry,  — 
a  cry  which  might  have  been  but  the  signal  for  some  pre 
concerted  outrage,  and  the  hush  deepened  when  the  tall 
powerful  form  of  the  German  leader  was  seen  stalking  toward 
the  deserted  house  and  entering  it  through  a  door,  which  Gian 
Vitelozzo  had  forced,  the  obstacle  which  had  luckily  prevented 
him  from  reaching  before  his  unsuspecting  victim.  The  ruffian 
could  be  seen  from  below,  holding  in  his  arms  on  the  balcony 
the  shrieking  and  struggling  girl,  disregarding  hi  his  brutal 
eagerness  all  that  passed  below.  Suddenly  his  shoulder  was 
grasped  as  in  the  teeth  of  a  lion,  and  so  powerful  was  the 
pressure  that  the  noble's  arms  were  benumbed  and  dropped 
powerlessly  by  his  side.  Before  he  recovered  from  his  surprise 
and  could  make  one  single  effort  at  resistance,  Eckhardt  had 

129 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

seized  him  round  the  waist  and  hurled  him  down  on  the  square 
amidst  a  roaring  thunder  of  applause  mingled  with  howls  of 
derision  and  rage.  Those  immediately  beneath  the  balcony, 
consisting  chiefly  of  the  scum  and  rabble,  who  cared  little  for 
the  monk's  arguments,  rejoiced  at  the  prompt  retribution 
meted  out  to  one  of  their  oppressors,  though  the  discomfiture 
of  the  hapless  victim  had  left  them  utterly  indifferent.  Why 
should  they  carry  their  skin  to  market  to  right  another's 
wrong  ? 

Thus  they  offered  neither  obstacle  nor  assistance  when  the 
Roman  baron,  in  no  wise  hurt  by  his  fall,  as  the  balcony  was 
at  no  great  height  from  the  ground,  rose  in  a  towering  rage 
and  challenged  his  assailant  to  descend  and  to  meet  him 
in  mortal  combat.  But  by  this  time  the  disturbance 
had  reached  the  monk's  ears,  and  at  once  perceiving  the 
cause  from  his  lofty  point  of  vantage,  Gerbert  shouted 
to  his  audience  to  secure  the  brawler  in  the  name  of 
God  and  the  Church.  The  mob  obeyed,  though  swayed 
by  reluctance  and  doubts,  while  the  pontifical  guards 
closed  round  the  offending  noble  to  cut  off  his  escape.  But 
Gian  Vitelozzo  seemed  to  possess  sovereign  reasons  for  dread 
ing  to  find  himself  in  the  custody  of  the  Vicar  of  the  Church 
and  promptly  took  to  flight. 

Overthrowing  the  first  who  opposed  him,  the  rest  offering 
no  serious  resistance,  he  forced  his  way  to  one  of  the  narrow 
passages  of  the  Ghetto,  fled  through  it,  relinquishing  his 
accoutrements  and  vanished  in  the  shadows,  which  haunted 
this  dismal  region  by  day  and  by  night.  But  Gerbert  of  Aurillac 
was  not  to  be  so  easily  baffled.  He  had  recognized  the  Roman 
baron  despite  his  demeaning  attire.  With  a  voice  of  thunder 
he  ordered  his  entire  following  to  the  ruffian's  pursuit,  and 
noting  the  direction  in  which  Vitelozzo  had  disappeared,  he 
leaped,  despite  his  advanced  years,  from  his  pulpit  and  waving 
a  cross  high  in  the  air,  led  the  pursuit  in  person,  which  in- 

130 


THE  SERMON  IN  THE  GHETTO 

augurated    a   general   stampede    of    nobles,    Jews,    pilgrims, 
monks  and  the  ever-present  rabble  of  Rome. 

This  unforeseen  incident  having  drawn  off  the  crowd,  which 
had  invaded  the  Ghetto,  in  the  preacher's  wake,  the  great 
square  was  quickly  deserted  and  the  torches  in  the  high  win 
dows  were  extinguished  as  if  a  sudden  wind-storm  had  snuffed 
out  their  glowing  radiance. 


131 


CHAPTER  X 


THE   SICILIAN   DANCER 

FTER  a  fruitless  search  for  the 
hapless  victim  of  the  Roman 
baron's  licentiousness,  in  order 
to  restore  her  hi  safety  to  her 
kindred  or  friends,  Eckhardt 
concluded  at  last  that  she  had 
found  a  haven  of  security  and 
turned  his  back  upon  the  Ghetto 
and  its  panic-stricken  inmates 
without  bestowing  another 
thought  upon  an  incident,  hi  itself  not  uncommon  and  but 
an  evidence  of  the  deep-rooted  social  disorder  of  the  times. 
His  thoughts  reverted  rather  to  the  attempt  upon  the  life  of 
the  pontifical  delegate,  which  some  happy  chance  had  per 
mitted  him  to  frustrate,  but  hi  vain  did  he  try  to  fathom  the 
reasons  prompting  a  deed,  the  accomplishment  of  which  seemed 
to  hold  out  such  meagre  promise  of  reward  to  its  perpetrators, 
whose  persons  were  enshrouded  hi  a  veil  of  mystery.  Eck 
hardt  could  only  assign  personal  reasons  to  an  attempt,  which, 
if  successful,  could  not  enrich  the  moving  spirits  of  the  plot, 
a  consideration  always  uppermost  hi  men's  minds,  and  ponder 
ing  thus  over  the  strange  events,  the  commander  aimlessly 
pursued  his  way  in  a  direction  opposite  to  the  one  the  monk 
and  his  following  had  chosen  for  the  pursuit  of  the  baron. 
How  long  he  had  thus  strolled  onward,  he  knew  not,  when  he 
found  himself  in  the  space  before  the  Capitol.  The  moon 
gleamed  pale  as  an  alabaster  lamp  La  the  dark  azure  of  the 

132 


THE   SICILIAN    DANCER 

heavens,  trembling  luminously  on  the  waters  of  a  fountain 
which  flowed  from  beneath  the  Capitoline  rock. 

Here  some  scattered  groups  of  the  populace  sat  or  lolled  on 
the  ground,  discussing  the  events  of  the  day,  jesting,  laughing 
or  love-making.  Others  paraded  up  and  down,  engaged  in 
conversation  and  enjoying  the  balmy  night  air,  tinged  with  the 
breath  of  departing  summer. 

Wearied  with  thought,  Eckhardt  made  his  way  to  the  foun 
tain,  and,  seated  on  the  margin  regardless  of  the  chattering 
groups  which  continually  clustered  round  it  and  dispersed,  he 
felt  his  spirits  grow  calm  in  the  monotony  of  the  gurgling  flow 
of  the  water,  which  was  streaming  down  the  rock  and  spurting 
from  several  grotesque  mouths  of  lions  and  dolphins.  The 
stars  sparkled  over  the  dark,  towering  cypresses,  which 
crowned  the  surrounding  eminences,  and  the  palaces  and  ruins 
upon  them  stood  forth  hi  distinctness  of  splendour  or  desola 
tion  against  the  luminous  brightness  of  the  moonlit  sky. 

Eckhardt's  ruminations  were  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  a 
tambourine,  and  looking  up  from  his  reverie,  he  perceived  that 
the  populace  were  gathering  In  a  wide  circle  before  the  fountain, 
attracted  by  the  sound  of  the  instrument.  In  the  background, 
kept  thus  remote  by  the  vigilance  of  an  old  woman  and  two 
half-savage  Calabrians,  who  seemed  to  be  the  proprietors  of 
the  show,  stood  a  young  woman  hi  the  garb  of  a  Sicilian, 
apparently  just  preparing  to  dance.  She  seemed  to  belong  to 
a  class  of  damsels  who  were  ordained  under  severe  penalties 
to  go  masked  during  all  religious  festivals,  to  protect  the  pil 
grims  from  the  influence  of  their  baleful  charms.  Else  there 
could  be  no  reason  why  an  itinerant  female  juggler  or  minstrel 
who  employed  the  talents,  which  the  harmonious  climate  of 
Italy  lavishes  on  its  poorest  children,  to  enable  them  to  earn 
a  scant  living  from  the  rude  populace,  should  affect  the  modesty 
or  precaution  of  a  mask.  But  her  tall,  voluptuous  form  as  she 
stood  collecting  her  audience  with  the  ringing  chimes  of  her 

133 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

tambourine,  garbed  as  she  was  in  that  graceful  Sicilian  cos 
tume,  which  still  retains  the  elegance  of  its  Greek  original, 
proved  allurement  enough  despite  her  mask.  While  thus 
unconsciously  diverting  his  disturbed  fancies,  Eckhardt  became 
aware,  that  he  had  himself  attracted  the  notice  of  the  dancer, 
for  he  encountered  her  gaze  beaming  on  him  from  the  depths 
of  her  green-speckled  mask,  which  its  ordainer  had  intended 
to  represent  the  corruption  of  disease,  but  which  the  humour 
of  the  populace  had  transmuted  into  a  more  pleasant  associa 
tion,  by  calling  them,  "  Cardinal  melons." 

The  dancer  started  from  her  somewhat  listless  attitude  into 
one  of  gayety  and  animation,  when  she  saw  how  earnestly 
the  dark  stranger  scrutinized  her,  and  tripping  across  the  in 
tervening  space,  she  paused  before  him  and  said  in  a  voice 
whose  music  flowed  to  his  heart  in  its  mingled  humility  and 
tenderness : 

"  Sainted  Stranger!  Will  you  disdain  dancing  the  Tarantella 
with  a  poor  Sicilian  sinner  for  the  love  of  Santa  Rosalia?  " 

"  Thou  art  like  to  make  many  for  the  love  of  thyself," 
replied  Eckhardt.  "  But  it  were  little  seemly  to  behold  a 
sinner  in  my  weeds  join  hi  the  dance  with  one  hi  thine." 

As  he  spoke,  he  peered  so  intently  into  the  masked  visage 
of  the  Sicilian  dancer,  that  she  precipitately  retreated. 

"  Nay  —  then  I  must  use  my  spells,"  she  replied  after  a 
moment's  thought,  and  glancing  round  the  circle,  which  was 
constantly  increasing,  she  added  slowly,  "  my  spells  to  raise 
the  dead,  since  love  and  passion  are  dead  in  your  consecrated 
breast!  Mother  —  my  mandolin!  " 

The  smile  of  her  lips  seemed  to  gleam  even  through  her 
mask  as  she  threw  her  tambourine  by  its  silver  chain  over  her 
shoulders,  taking  instead  the  instrument,  which  one  of  the 
Calabrians  handed  to  her.  Tuning  her  mandolin  she  again 
turned  to  Eckhardt. 

"  But  first  you  must  fairly  answer  a  question,  else  I  shall 

134 


THE    SICILIAN    DANCER 

not  know  which  of  my  spells  to  use:   for  with  some  memory 
alone  avails,  —  with  others  hope." 

And  without  waiting  his  reply,  she  began  to  sing  in  a  voice 
of  indescribable  sweetness.  After  the  second  stanza  she  paused, 
apparently  to  await  the  reply  to  her  question,  while  a  murmur 
of  delight  ran  through  the  ranks  of  her  listeners.  The  first 
sound  of  her  voice  had  fixed  Eckhardt's  attention,  not  alone 
for  its  exquisite  purity  and  sweetness,  but  the  strange,  mys 
terious  air  which  hovered  round  her,  despite  her  demeaning 
attire. 

Yet  his  reply  partook  of  the  asperity  of  his  Northern  forests. 

"  Deem  you  such  gossamer  subtleties  were  likely  to  find 
anchorage  in  this  restless  breast,  which,  you  hear,  I  strike  and 
it  answers  with  the  sound  of  steel  ?  " 

"  Nay,  then  so  much  the  worse  for  you,"  replied  the  dancer. 
"  For  where  the  pure  spirit  comes  not,  —  the  dark  one  will," 
and  she  continued  her  song  in  a  voice  of  still  more  mellow  and 
alluring  sweetness. 

Suddenly  she  approached  him  again,  her  air  more  mysterious 
than  ever. 

"Ah!"  she  whispered.  "And  I  could  teach  you  even  a 
sweeter  lesson,  —  but  you  men  will  never  learn  it,  as  long  as 
women  have  been  trying  to  teach  it  on  earth." 

"  Wherefore  then  wear  you  this  mask? "  questioned 
Eckahardt  with  a  severity  in  his  tone,  which  seemed  to 
stagger  the  girl. 

"  To  please  one  greater  than  myself,"  the  dancer  replied 
with  a  mock  bow,  which  produced  a  general  outburst  of 
laughter. 

"  Well  then,  —  what  do  you  want  with  me?  Why  do  you 
shrink  away?  " 

"  Nay,  —  if  you  will  not  dance  with  me,  I  must  look  for 
another  partner,  for  my  mother  grows  impatient,  as  you  may 
see  by  the  twirling  of  her  girdle,"  replied  the  girl  pettishly, 

J35 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

"  I  never  cared  who  it  was  before,  —  and  now  simply  because 
I  like  you,  you  hate  me." 

"  You  know  it  is  the  bite  of  the  poison  spider,  for  which  the 
Tarantella  is  the  antidote,"  spoke  Eckhardt  sternly. 

Without  replying  the  girl  began  her  dance  anew,  flitting 
before  her  indifferent  spectator  in  a  maze  of  serpentine  move 
ments,  at  once  alluring  and  bewildering  to  the  eye.  And  to 
complete  her  mockery  of  his  apathy,  she  continued  to  sing 
even  during  all  the  vagaries  of  her  dance. 

The  crowd  looked  on  with  constantly  increasing  delight 
testifying  its  enthusiasm  with  occasional  outbursts  of  joyful 
acclamation.  Showers  of  silver,  even  gold,  which  fell  in  the 
circle,  showed  that  the  motley  audience  had  not  exhausted  its 
resources  in  pious  contributions,  and  the  coins  were  greedily 
gathered  hi  by  the  old  woman  and  her  comrades,  while  several 
nobles  who  had  joined  the  concourse  whispered  to  the  hag, 
gave  her  rings  and  other  rich  pledges,  all  of  which  she  accepted, 
repaying  the  donors  with  the  less  substantial  coin  of  promise. 

Suddenly  the  relentless  fair  one  concluded  her  mazy  circles 
by  forming  one  with  her  nude  arms  over  Eckhardt's  head  and 
inclining  herself  towards  him,  she  whispered  a  few  words  into 
his  ear.  A  lightning  change  seemed  to  come  over  the  com 
mander's  countenance,  intensifying  its  pallor,  and  struck  with 
the  impression  she  had  produced,  the  Sicilian  continued  her 
importunities,  nodding  towards  the  old  hag  hi  the  background, 
until  Eckhardt  half  reluctantly,  half  wrathfully  permitted  him 
self  to  be  drawn  towards  the  group,  of  which  the  old  woman 
formed  the  center.  Pausing  before  her  and  whispering  a  few 
words  into  her  ear,  which  caused  the  hag  to  glance  up  with  a 
scowling  leer,  the  girl  took  a  small  bronze  mirror  of  oval 
shape  from  beneath  her  tunic  and  after  breathing  upon  the 
surface,  requested  the  old  woman  to  proceed  with  the  spell. 
The  two  Calabrians  hurriedly  gathered  some  dried  leaves, 
which  they  stuffed  under  a  tripod,  that  seemed  to  constitute 

136 


THE   SICILIAN   DANCER 

the  entire  stock-in-trade  of  the  group.  After  placing  thereon 
a  copper  brazier,  on  which  the  old  woman  scattered  some 
spices,  the  latter  commanded  the  girl  to  hold  the  mirror  over 
the  fumes,  which  began  to  rise,  after  the  two  Calabrians  had 
set  the  leaves  on  fire.  The  flames,  which  greedily  licked  them 
up,  cast  a  strange  illumination  over  the  scene.  The  crowds 
attracted  by  the  uncommon  spectacle  pushed  nearer  and 
nearer,  while  Eckhardt  watched  the  process  with  an  air  of 
ill-disguised  impatience  and  annoyance  leaning  upon  his  huge 
brand. 

The  old  woman  was  mumbling  some  words  in  a  strange 
unintelligible  jargon  and  the  Calabrians  were  replenishing  the 
consumed  leaves  with  a  new  supply  they  had  gathered  up, 
when  Eckhardt's  strange  companion  drawing  closer,  whispered 
to  him: 

"  Now  your  wish !    Think  it  —  but  do  not  speak !  " 

Eckhardt  nodded,  half  indifferently,  half  irritated,  when  the 
girl  suddenly  held  the  bronze  mirror  before  his  eyes  and  bade 
him  look.  But  no  sooner  had  he  obeyed  her  behest,  than  with 
an  outcry  of  amazement  he  darted  forward  and  fairly  captured 
his  unsuspecting  tormentor. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  questioned  breathlessly,  "  to  read 
men's  thoughts  and  the  silent  wish  of  their  heart  ?  " 

But  in  his  eagerness  he  probably  hurt  the  girl  against  the 
iron  scales,  of  whose  jangling  he  had  boasted,  for  she  uttered 
a  cry  and  called  in  great  terror:  "  Rescue  —  Rescue!  " 

Before  the  words  were  well  uttered  the  two  Calabrians 
rushed  towards  them  with  drawn  daggers.  The  mob  also 
raised  a  shout  and  seemed  to  meditate  interference.  This  up 
roar  changed  the  nature  of  the  dancer's  alarm. 

"  In  our  Holy  Mother's  name  —  forbear  —  "  she  addressed 
the  two  Calabrians,  and  the  mob,  and  turning  to  her  captor, 
she  muttered  in  a  tone  of  almost  abject  entreaty: 

"  Release  me  —  noble  stranger!  Indeed  I  am  not  what  I 

i37 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

seem,  and  to  be  recognized  here  would  be  my  ruin.  Nay  — 
look  not  so  incredulous !  I  have  but  played  this  trick  on  you, 
to  learn  if  you  indeed  hated  all  woman-kind.  You  think  me 
beautiful,  —  ah !  Could  you  but  see  my  mistress !  You  would 
surely  forget  these  poor  charms  of  mine." 

"  And  who  is  your  mistress  ?  "  questioned  Eckhardt  per 
sisting  in  his  endeavour  to  remove  her  mask,  and  still  under 
the  spell  of  the  strange  and  to  him  inexplicable  vision  in  the 
bronze  mirror. 

"Mercy  —  mercy!  You  know  it  is  a  grievous  offence  to 
be  seen  without  my  Cardinal  melon,"  pleaded  the  girl  with  a 
return  of  the  wiling  witchery  in  her  tones  and  attempting,  but 
in  vain,  to  release  herself  from  Eckhardt's  determined  grasp. 

"  Who  is  your  mistress  ?  "  insisted  the  Margrave.  "  And 
who  are  you  ?  " 

"  Release  the  wanton !  How  dare  you,  a  soldier  of  the 
church,  break  the  commands  of  the  Apostolic  lieutenant  ?  " 
exclaimed  a  husky  voice  and  a  strong  arm  grasped  Eckhardt's 
shoulder.  Turning  round,  the  latter  saw  himself  confronted 
by  the  towering  form  of  the  monk  Nilus,  who  seemed  ignorant 
of  the  person  and  rank  of  him  he  was  addressing  and  whose 
countenance  flamed  with  fanatic  wrath. 

"  Ay !  And  it  hath  come  to  my  turn  to  rescue  damsels,  and 
moreover  to  serve  the  church,"  added  another  speaker  in  a 
bantering  tone  and  Eckhardt  instantly  recognized  the  Lord 
Vitelozzo,  who  having  eluded  the  pursuit  of  the  monk  of 
Cluny,  held  a  mace  he  had  secured  in  lieu  of  his  cross-bow 
high  and  menacingly  in  the  air. 

"  Friar,  look  to  your  ally,  if  such  he  be,  lest  I  do  what  I 
should  have  done  before  and  make  a  very  harmless  rogue  of 
him,"  said  Eckhardt,  holding  the  girl  with  one  hand  while 
with  the  other  he  unsheathed  his  sword. 

"  Peace,  fool!  "  the  monk  addressed  his  would-be  ally, 
drawing  him  back  forcibly.  "  The  church  needs  not  the  aid 

138 


THE    SICILIAN    DANCER 

of  one  rogue  to  subdue  another.    Let  the  girl  go,  my  son !  " 
he  then  turned  to  the  Margrave. 

"  Nay,  father  —  by  these  bruises,  which  still  ache,  I  will 
retrieve  my  wrong  and  rescue  the  wench,"  insisted  the  Roman, 
again  raising  his  massive  weapon,  but  the  monk  and  some 
bystanders  wedged  themselves  between  Eckhardt  and  his 
opponent. 

"  Nay,  then,  now  we  are  like  to  have  good  sport,"  exclaimed 
a  fourth.  "  A  monk,  a  woman  and  a  soldier,  —  it  requires 
not  more  to  set  the  world  ablaze." 

"  Stranger,  —  I  implore  you,  release  me,"  whispered  Eck- 
hardt's  captive  with  frantic  entreaty  amidst  the  ever  increasing 
tumult  of  the  bystanders,  who  appeared  to  be  divided,  some 
favouring  the  monk,  while  others  sided  with  the  girl's  captor, 
whose  intentions  they  sorely  misconstrued.  "  I  would  not  stand 
revealed  to  yonder  monk  for  all  the  world !  "  concluded  the  girl 
in  fear-struck  tones. 

At  this  moment  a  cry  among  the  bystanders  warned  Eckhardt 
that  Vitelozzo's  wrath  had  at  length  mastered  every  effort  to 
restrain  him,  and,  whirling  round,  to  defend  himself  he  was 
compelled  to  release  the  girl.  But  instead  of  making  the  use 
she  might  have  been  expected  to  do  of  her  liberty,  she  called 
to  the  monk,  to  part  the  combatants  in  the  name  of  the  saints. 

But  it  required  no  expostulation  on  the  part  of  the  friar,  for 
when  Eckhardt  turned  fully  upon  him,  Vitelozzo,  for  the  first 
time  recognizing  his  antagonist,  beat  a  precipitate  retreat, 
but  at  some  distance  he  turned,  shouting  derisively : 

"  An  olive  for  a  fig !  Your  dove  has  flown !  "  and  when 
Eckhardt,  recovering  from  his  surprise,  wheeled  about,  he 
found,  much  to  his  chagrin,  the  Roman's  words  confirmed  by 
the  absence  of  the  girl  as  well  as  of  her  associates,  who  managed 
to  make  their  escape  at  the  moment  when  the  impending 
encounter  had  momentarily  drawn  off  the  attention  of  the 
crowd. 

139 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

"  The  devil  can  speak  truth,  they  say,  though  I  believed  it 
not  till  now,"  muttered  Eckhardt  to  himself  as,  vexed  and 
mystified  beyond  measure,  he  strode  through  the  scattering 
crowds. 

Had  it  been  some  jeer  of  the  fiend  ?  Had  he  been  made 
the  victim  of  some  monstrous  deceit  ? 

Who  was  the  Sicilian  dancer,  whose  manners  and  golden 
language  belied  her  demeaning  attire,  whose  strange  eyes  had 
penetrated  into  the  darkness  of  his  soul,  whose  voice  had 
thrilled  him  with  the  echoes  of  one  long  silent  and  forever  ? 

The  magic  mirror  in  which,  as  in  a  haze,  he  had  seen  the 
one  face  he  most  longed  to  see,  —  the  strange  and  sudden  ful 
fillment  of  the  unspoken  wish  of  his  heart,  —  the  dancer's 
marked  persistence  in  the  face  of  his  declared  abhorrence,  — 
her  mask  and  her  incongruous  companions,  —  her  fear  of  the 
monk  and  concern  for  himself,  —  all  these  incidents,  which 
one  by  one  floated  on  the  mirror  of  his  memory,  rose  ever  and 
anon  before  his  inner  gaze  —  each  time  more  mystifying  and 
bewildering. 

In  deep  rumination  Eckhardt  pursued  his  way,  gazing 
absently  upon  the  roofless  columns  and  shattered  walls,  every 
where  visible,  over  which  the  star-light  shone  —  ghostly  and 
transparent,  backed  by  the  frowning  and  embattled  fortresses 
of  the  Cavalli,  half  hidden  by  the  dark  foliage  that  sprang 
up  amidst  the  very  fanes  and  palaces  of  old.  Now  and  then  he 
paused  with  a  deep  and  heavy  sigh,  as  he  pondered  over  the 
dark  and  desolate  path  upon  which  he  was  about  to  enter, 
over  the  lack  of  a  guiding  hand  in  which  he  might  trust,  over 
the  uncertainty  of  the  step,  which,  once  taken  was  beyond 
recall. 

Suddenly  a  light  caught  the  solitary  rambler's  eye,  a  light 
almost  like  a  star,  scarcely  larger  indeed,  but  more  red  and 
intense  in  its  ray.  Of  itself  it  was  nothing  uncommon  and 
might  have  shone  from  either  convent  or  cottage.  But  it 

140 


THE    SICILIAN    DANCER 

streamed  from  a  part  of  the  Aventine,  which  contained  no 
habitations  of  the  living,  only  deserted  ruins  and  shattered 
porticoes  of  which  even  the  names  and  memories  of  their 
former  inhabitants  had  been  long  forgotten.  Aware  of  this, 
Eckhardt  felt  a  slight  awe,  as  the  light  threw  its  unsteady 
beam  over  the  dreary  landscape ;  for  he  was  by  no  means  free 
from  the  superstition  of  the  age  and  it  was  near  the  hour  con 
secrated  to  witches  and  ghosts. 

But  fear,  whether  of  this  world  or  the  next,  could  not  long 
daunt  the  mind  of  the  Margrave;  and  after  a  brief  hesitation 
he  resolved  to  make  a  digression  from  his  way,  to  discover  the 
cause  of  the  phenomenon.  Unconsciously  Eckhardt's  tread 
passed  over  the  site  of  the  ill-famed  temple  of  Isis  which  had  at 
one  time  witnessed  those  wildest  of  orgies  commemorated  by 
the  pen  of  Juvenal.  At  last  he  came  to  a  dense  and  dark 
copse  from  an  opening  in  the  center  of  which  gleamed  the 
mysterious  light.  Penetrating  the  gloomy  foliage  Eckhardt 
found  himself  before  a  large  ruin,  grey  and  roofless.  Through 
a  rift  in  the  wall,  forming  a  kind  of  casement  and  about  ten 
feet  from  the  ground,  the  light  gleamed  over  the  matted  and 
rank  soil,  embedded,  as  it  were,  hi  vast  masses  of  shade. 
Without  knowing  it,  Eckhardt  stood  on  the  very  spot  once 
consecrated  to  the  cult  of  the  Egyptian  goddess,  and  now 
shunned  as  an  abode  of  evil  spirits.  The  walls  of  the  ruin 
were  covered  with  a  dense  growth  of  creepers,  which  entwined 
even  the  crumbled  portico  to  an  extent  that  made  it  almost 
impossible  to  penetrate  into  its  intricate  labyrinth  of  corridors. 

While  indulging  in  a  thousand  speculations,  occasioned  by 
the  hour  and  the  spot,  Eckhardt  suddenly  perceived  a  shadow 
in  the  portico.  Only  the  head  was  visible  in  the  moonlight, 
which  bathed  the  ruin,  and  it  disappeared  almost  as  quickly 
as  it  had  been  revealed.  While  meditating  upon  the  expediency 
of  exploring  the  mystery  which  confronted  him,  Eckhardt 
was  startled  by  the  sound  of  footsteps.  Straining  his  gaze 

141 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

through  the  haze  of  the  moonlight  he  beheld  emerging  from 
the  portico  of  the  temple  the  tall  form  of  a  man,  wrapt  in  a 
long  black  cloak.  He  wore  a  conical  hat  with  sloping  brim 
which  entirely  shadowed  his  face  and  on  his  right  arm  he 
carried  the  apparently  lifeless  body  of  a  girl.  With  the  object 
of  preventing  a  probable  crime  Eckhardt  stepped  from  his  place 
of  concealment  just  as  the  stranger  was  about  to  pass  him  with 
his  mysterious  burden  and  placed  his  hands  arrestingly  on  the 
other's  shoulder. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  And  what  is  your  business  here  ?  "  he 
questioned  curtly,  attempting  to  remove  the  stranger's  vizor. 

"  The  one  matters  little  to  your  business,  —  the  other  little 
to  mine,"  the  tall  individual  replied  enigmatically  while  he 
dexterously  resisted  his  questioner's  effort  to  gain  a  glimpse 
at  his  face.  "  But,"  he  added  in  a  strange  oracular  tone, 
which  moved  Eckhardt  despite  himself,  "  if  you  value  my 
aid  in  your  hour  of  trial  —  assist  me  now  in  my  hour  of  need !  " 

"  Your  aid  ? "  echoed  Eckhardt,  staring  amazed  at  his 
companion.  "  Do  you  know  me  ?  In  what  can  you  assist 
me?" 

"You  are  Eckhardt  the  Margrave,"  replied  the  stranger; 
then  inclining  his  head  slightly  towards  him  he  whispered  a 
word,  the  effect  of  which  seemed  to  paralyze  his  listener,  for 
his  arresting  hand  fell  and  he  retreated  a  step  or  two,  surveying 
him  in  speechless  wonder. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  stammered  at  last. 

The  stranger  raised  the  long  visor  of  his  conical  hat.  An 
exclamation  of  surprise  came  from  Eckhardt's  lips. 

"Hezilo,  the  harper!" 

The  other  replied  with  a  silent  nod. 

"  And  we  have  never  met !  " 

"  I  seldom  go  out !  "  said  the  harper. 

"  What  know  you  of  Ginevra?  "  begged  the  Margrave. 

The  harper  shook  his  head. 

142 


THE   SICILIAN   DANCER 

"  This  is  neither  the  time,  nor  the  place.  I  must  be  gone  — 
to  shelter  my  burden!  We  shall  meet  again!  If  you  follow 
me,"  he  concluded,  noting  Eckhardt's  persistence,  "  you  will 
learn  nothing  and  only  endanger  my  safety  and  that  of  this 
child !  " 

"  Is  she  dead  ?  "  Eckhardt  questioned  with  a  shudder. 

"  Would  she  were !  "  replied  the  stranger  mournfully. 

"  Can  I  assist  you  ?  " 

"  I  thank  you!    The  burden  is  light.    We  will  meet  again." 

There  was  something  in  the  harper's  tone  which  arrested 
Eckhardt's  desire  to  ignore  his  injunction.  How  long  he 
remained  on  the  site  of  the  ill-famed  ruin,  the  Margrave  hardly 
knew.  When  the  fresh  breeze  of  night,  blowing  from  the 
Campagna,  roused  him  at  last  from  his  reverie  the  mysterious 
stranger  and  his  equally  mysterious  burden  had  disappeared 
in  the  haze  of  the  moonlit  night.  Like  one  walking  in  a 
dream  Eckhardt  slowly  retraced  his  steps  to  his  palace  on  the 
Caelian  Mount,  where  an  imperial  order  sanctioning  his  pur 
pose  and  relieving  him  of  his  command  awaited  him. 


143 


CHAPTER  XI 


NILUS   OF  GAETA 


GRAND  high  mass  in  honour  of 
the  pilgrims  was  on  the  follow 
ing  eve  to  be  celebrated  in  the 
ancient  Basilica  of  St.  Peter's. 
But  vast  as  was  its  extent,  only 
a  part  of  the  pilgrims  could  be 
contained  and  the  bronze  gates 
were  thrown  open  to  allow  the 
great  multitude  which  filled  the 
square  to  share  the  benefits  and 
some  of  the  glories  of  the  ceremony. 

The  Vatican  Basilica  of  the  tenth  century,  far  from  possessing 
its  present  splendour,  was  as  yet  but  the  old  consecrated  palace, 
hallowed  by  memories  of  the  olden  time,  in  which  Charle 
magne  enjoyed  the  hospitality  of  Leo  III,  when  at  his  hands 
he  received  the  imperial  crown  of  the  West.  Similar  to  the 
restored  church  of  St.  Paul  fuori  le  Mure,  as  we  now  see  it,  it 
was  some  twenty  feet  longer  and  considerably  wider,  having 
five  naves  divided  off  by  four  rows  of  vast  monolith  columns. 
There  were  ninety-six  columns  in  all,  of  various  marbles, 
differing  in  size  and  style,  for  they  had  been  the  first  hasty 
spoils  of  antique  palaces  and  temples.  The  walls  above  the 
order  of  columns  were  decorated  with  mosaics  such  as  no 
Roman  hand  could  then  produce  or  even  restore.  A  grand 
arch,  such  as  we  see  at  the  older  Basilicas  to-day,  inlaid  with 
silver  and  adorned  with  mosaic,  separated  the  nave  from  the 
chancel,  below  which  was  the  tribune,  an  inheritance  from  the 

144 


NILUS    OF    GAETA 

praetor's  court  of  old.  It  now  contained  the  high  altar  and  the 
sedile  of  the  Vicar  of  Christ.  Before  the  altar  stood  the  Con 
fession,  the  vault  wherein  lay  the  bones  of  St.  Peter,  with  a 
screen  of  silver  crowned  with  images  of  saints  and  virgins. 
And  the  whole  was  illumined  by  a  gigantic  candelabrum  holding 
more  than  a  thousand  lighted  tapers. 

The  chief  attraction,  however,  was  yet  wanting,  for  the 
pontiff  and  his  court  still  tarried  in  the  Vatican  receiving  the 
homage  of  the  foreign  pilgrims.  While  listlessly  noting  the 
preparations  from  his  chosen  point  of  vantage,  Eckhardt  dis 
covered  himself  the  object  of  scrutiny  on  the  part  of  a  monk, 
who  had  been  listlessly  wandering  about  and  who  disappeared 
no  sooner  than  he  had  caught  the  eye  of  the  great  leader. 

Unwilling  to  continue  the  target  of  observation  on  the  part 
of  those  who  recognized  him  despite  his  closed  visor,  Eckhardt 
entered  the  Basilica  and  took  up  his  station  near  a  remote 
shrine,  whence  he  could  witness  the  entrance  of  the  pontifical 
procession,  without  attracting  undue  attention  to  his  person. 
When  the  pontifical  train  did  appear,  it  seemed  one  mass  of 
glitter  and  sumptuous  colour,  as  it  filed  down  the  aisles  of  the 
Basilica.  The  rich  copes  of  the  ecclesiastics,  stiff  with  gold 
and  gorgeous  brocade,  the  jewelled  mantles  of  the  nobles,  the 
polished  breast  plates  and  tasselled  spears  of  the  guards  passed 
before  his  eyes  hi  a  bewildering  confusion  of  splendour.  In 
his  gilded  chair,  under  a  superb  canopy,  Gregory,  the  youthful 
pontiff,  was  borne  along,  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  bishops, 
extending  his  hands  in  benediction  as  he  passed  the  kneeling 
worshippers. 

An  infinite  array  of  officials  followed.  Then  came  pilgrims 
of  the  highest  rank,  each  order  marching  hi  separate  divisions, 
in  the  fantastic  costumes  of  their  respective  countries.  In 
their  wake  marched  different  orders  of  monks  and  nuns,  the 
former  carrying  torches,  the  latter  lighted  tapers,  although  the 
westering  sun  still  flamed  down  the  aisles  in  cataracts  of 

145 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

light.  After  these  fraternities  and  sisterhoods,  Crescentius, 
the  Senator,  was  seen  to  enter  with  his  suite,  conspicuous  for 
the  pomp  of  their  attire,  the  taste  of  Crescentius  being  to 
sombre  colours. 

Descending  from  his  elevated  station,  Gregory  proceeded  to 
officiate  as  High  Priest  in  the  august  solemnity.  Come  with 
what  prejudices  one  might,  it  was  not  in  humanity  to  resist 
the  impressions  of  overwhelming  awe,  produced  by  the  mag 
nificence  of  the  spectacle  and  the  sublime  recollections  with 
which  the  solemnity  itself  in  every  stage  is  associated.  Despite 
his  extreme  youth,  Gregory  supported  all  the  venerableness 
and  dignity  of  the  High  Priest  of  Christendom  and  when  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  high  mass  he  bestowed  his  benediction  on  all 
Christendom,  Eckhardt  was  kneeling  with  the  immense  multi 
tude,  perhaps  more  convinced  than  the  most  enthusiastic 
pilgrim,  that  he  was  receiving  benediction  direct  from  heaven. 

The  paroxysm  only  subsided,  when  raising  his  head,  he 
beheld  a  gaunt  monk  in  the  funereal  garb  of  the  brotherhood 
of  Penitent  Friars  ascend  the  chancel.  He  was  tall,  lean  as  a 
skeleton  and  from  his  shrivelled  face  two  eyes,  sunken  deep 
in  their  sockets,  burnt  with  the  fire  of  the  fanatic.  This  was 
the  celebrated  hermit,  Nilus  of  Gaeta,  of  whose  life  and  manners 
the  most  wonderful  tales  were  current.  He  was  believed  to 
be  of  Greek  extraction,  perhaps  owing  to  his  lengthy  residence 
in  Southern  Italy,  near  the  shrines  of  Monte  Gargano  hi 
Apulia.;  In  the  pursuit  of  recondite  mysteries  of  the  Moorish 
and  Cabalistical  schools,  he  had  attained  such  proficiency, 
that  he  was  seized  with  a  profound  disgust  for  the  world  and 
became  a  monk.  Several  years  he  spent  in  remote  and  pagan 
lands,  spreading  the  tidings  of  salvation,  until,  as  it  was 
whispered,  he  received  an  extraordinary  call  to  the  effect,  as 
was  more  mysteriously  hinted,  to  turn  the  church  from  diverse 
great  errors,  into  which  she  had  fallen,  and  which  threatened 
her  downfall.  Last,  not  least,  he  was  to  prepare  the  minds 

146 


NILUS    OF    GAETA 

of  mortal  men  for  the  great  catastrophe  of  the  Millennium,  — 
the  End  of  Time,  the  end  of  all  earthly  vanity.  Special  visions 
had  been  vouchsafed  him,  and  there  was  that  in  his  age,  in  his 
appearance  and  his  speech  which  at  once  precluded  the  im- 
poster.  Nilus  of  Gae'ta  himself  believed  what  he  preached. 

There  was  a  brief  silence,  during  which  the  Romans  ac 
quainted  their  foreign  guests  in  hurried  whispers  with  the 
name  and  renown  of  the  reputed  hermit.  The  latter  stood 
motionless  in  the  chancel  and  seemed  to  offer  up  a  silent 
prayer,  ere  he  pronounced  his  harangue. 

His  sermon  was  delivered  in  Latin,  still  the  common  language 
of  Italy,  even  in  its  corrupt  state,  and  its  quality  was  such 
as  to  impress  at  once  the  most  skeptical  with  the  extraordinary 
gifts  of  the  preacher. 

The  monk  began  with  a  truly  terrific  picture  of  the  state 
of  society  and  religion  throughout  the  Christian  world,  which 
he  delineated  with  such  gloom  and  horror,  that  but  for  his 
arabesque  entanglement  and  his  gorgeousness  of  imagery  one 
might  have  believed  him  a  spirit  of  hell,  returned  to  paint  the 
orb  of  the  living  with  colours  borrowed  from  its  murkiest 
depths.  But  with  all  the  fantastic  convolutions  of  his  reasoning 
the  fervour  of  a  real  eloquence  soon  began  to  overflow  the 
twisted  fountains,  in  which  the  scholastic  rhetoric  of  the  time 
usually  confined  its  displays.  These  qualities  Nilus  especially 
exhibited  when  describing  the  pure  dawn  of  Christianity,  in 
which  the  pagan  gods  had  vanished  like  phantoms  of  night. 
He  declared  that  they  were  once  more  deified  upon  earth  and 
the  clear  light  all  but  extinguished.  And  treating  the  antique 
divinities  as  impersonations  of  human  passions  and  lusts,  the 
monk's  eloquence  suddenly  took  the  most  terrible  tints,  and 
considering  the  nature  of  some  of  the  crimes  which  he  thus 
delineated  and  anathematized,  his  audience  began  to  suspect 
personal  allusions  of  the  most  hideous  nature. 

After  this  singular  exordium,  the  monk  proceeded  in  his 

147 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

harangue  and  it  seemed  as  if  his  words,  like  the  lava  overflow 
from  a  volcano,  withered  all  that  was  green  and  flowery  in 
their  path.  The  Universe  in  his  desponding  eloquence  seemed 
but  a  vast  desolation.  All  the  beautiful  illusions  which  the 
magic  of  passion  conjures  into  the  human  soul  died  beneath 
his  touch,  changing  into  the  phantoms,  which  perhaps  they  are. 
The  vanity  of  hope,  the  shallowness  of  success,  the  bitterness 
which  mingles  with  the  greatest  glory,  the  ecstasy  of  love,  — 
all  these  the  monk  painted  in  the  most  powerful  colours,  to 
contrast  them  with  the  marble  calm  of  that  drooping  form 
crucified  upon  the  hill  of  Calvary. 

Spellbound,  the  immense  multitude  listened  to  the  almost 
superhuman  eloquence  of  the  friar.  As  yet  his  attacks  had 
dealt  only  in  generalities.  The  Senator  of  Rome  seemed  to 
listen  to  his  words  with  a  degree  of  satisfaction.  A  singularity 
remarked  in  his  character  by  all  his  historians,  which,  by 
some,  has  been  considered  as  proof  of  a  nature  not  originally 
evil,  was  his  love  of  virtue  in  the  abstract.  Frequent  resolu 
tions  and  recommendations  to  reform  were  perhaps  only  over 
come  by  his  violent  passions,  his  ambition  and  the  exigencies 
of  his  ambiguous  state  between  church  and  empire.  But  as 
the  monk  detailed  the  crimes  and  monstrosities  of  the  age, 
the  calm  on  the  Senator's  face  changed  to  a  livid,  satirical 
smile,  and  occasionally  he  pointed  the  invectives  of  the  friar 
by  nodding  to  those  of  his  followers  who  were  supposed  to  be 
guilty  of  the  crimes  alleged,  as  if  to  call  upon  them  to  notice 
that  they  were  assailed,  and  many  a  noble  shrank  behind  his 
neighbour  whose  conscience  smote  him  of  one  or  all  the  crimes 
enumerated  by  Nilus. 

In  one  of  his  most  daring  flights  the  monk  suddenly  checked 
himself  and  announcing  his  vision  of  impending  judgment, 
he  bid  his  listeners  prepare  their  souls  in  a  prophetic  and 
oracular  tone,  which  was  distinctly  audible,  amid  all  the 
muttering  which  pervaded  the  Basilica. 

148 


NILUS    OF    GAETA 

A  few  moments  of  devout  silence  followed.  The  monk  was 
expected  to  kneel,  to  offer  up  a  prayer  for  divine  mercy.  But 
he  stood  motionless  in  the  chancel,  and  after  waiting  a  short 
time,  Gregory  turned  to  an  attendant: 

"  Go  and  see  what  ails  the  disciple  of  Benedict,  —  we  will 
ourselves  say  the  Gratias." 

After  rising,  he  stepped  to  the  altar  with  the  accustomed 
retinue  of  cardinals  and  prelates  and  chanted  the  benediction. 
At  the  conclusion  Crescentius  approached  the  altar  alone, 
demanded  permission  to  make  a  duteous  offering  and  emptied 
a  purse  of  gold  on  the  salver. 

"  A  most  princely  and  regal  benefaction,"  muttered  the 
Pontifical  Datary  —  "a  most  illustrious  example." 

"  Charlemagne  gave  more,  but  so  will  I,  when  like  him  I 
come  to  receive  the  crown  of  the  West,"  muttered  the  Senator 
of  Rome.  His  example  was  immediately  followed,  and  in  a 
few  moments  the  altar  was  heaped  round  with  presents  of 
extraordinary  magnificence  and  bounty.  Sacks  of  gold  and 
silver  were  emptied  out,  jewels,  crucifixes,  relics,  amber,  gold- 
dust,  ivories,  pearls  and  rare  spices  were  heaped  up  in  pro 
miscuous  profusion,  and  in  return  each  donor  received  a  branch 
of  consecrated  palm  from  the  hand  of  the  Datary,  whose  keen 
eyes  reflected  the  brightness  of  the  treasures  whose  receipts 
he  thus  acknowledged. 

The  chant  from  various  chapels  now  poured  down  the 
aisles  its  torrents  of  melody,  the  vast  multitudes  joining  in 
the  Gloria  hi  Excelsis.  Eckhardt's  remote  station  had  not  per 
mitted  him  to  witness  all  that  had  happened.  His  gaze  was 
still  riveted  on  the  friar,  who  was  now  staggering  from  the 
pulpit,  when  a  terrific  event  turned  and  absorbed  his  attention. 

The  great  bell  of  the  Basilica  was  tolling  and  the  vibration 
produced  by  so  many  sounds  shook  the  vast  and  ancient  pile 
so  violently  that  a  prodigious  mass  of  iron,  which  formed  one 
of  the  clappers  of  the  bell,  fell  from  the  belfry  in  the  airy 

149 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

spire  and  dashing  with  irresistible  force  through  every  obstruc 
tion,  reached  the  floor  at  the  very  feet  of  the  Pontiff,  crushing 
a  deep  hole  in  the  pavement  and  throwing  a  million  pieces  of 
shattered  marble  over  him  and  his  retinue. 

The  vast  assembly  was  for  a  moment  motionless  with 
terror  and  surprise,  expecting  little  less  than  universal  de 
struction  in  the  downfall  of  the  whole  edifice  on  their  heads, 
with  all  its  ponderous  mass  of  iron  and  stone.  A  cry  arose  that 
the  Pontiff  had  been  killed,  which  was  echoed  in  a  thousand 
varying  voices,  according  as  men's  fears  or  hopes  prevailed. 
But  in  the  first  moment  of  panic,  when  it  was  doubtful  whether 
or  not  the  entire  center  of  the  Basilica  would  crumble  upon 
the  assembly,  Eckhardt  had  rushed  from  the  comparative 
safety  of  his  own  station  to  the  side  of  the  Pontiff  as  if  to 
shield  him,  when  with  the  majesty  of  a  prophet  interposing 
between  offended  heaven  and  the  object  of  its  wrath,  Gerbert 
of  Aurillac  uttered  with  deep  fervour  and  amid  profound  silence 
a  De  Profundis.  The  multitudes  were  stilled  from  their  panic, 
which  might  have  been  attended  with  far  more  serious  con 
sequences  than  the  accident  itself.  There  was  a  solemn  pause, 
broken  only  by  a  sea-like  response  of  "  Amen  "  —  and  a 
universal  sigh  of  relief,  which  sounded  like  the  soughing  of 
the  wind  in  a  great  forest. 

All  distinctions  of  rank  seemed  blotted  out  in  that  supreme 
moment.  Then  the  voice  of  Nilus  was  heard  thundering 
above  the  breathless  calm,  while  he  held  aloft  an  ebony 
crucifix,  in  which  he  always  carried  the  host  : 

"  The  summits  of  St.  Peter  still  stand  !  When  they  too  fall, 
pilgrims  of  the  world  —  even  so  shall  Christendom  fall  with 
them." 

At  a  sign  from  the  Pontiff  his  attendants  raised  aloft  the 
canopy,  under  which  he  had  entered.  But  he  refused  to 
mount  the  chair  and  heading  the  bishops  and  cardinals,  he 
left  the  church  on  foot.  The  Datary  gave  one  look  of  hopeless 

150 


NILUS    OF    GAETA 

despair,  as  the  masses  crowded  out  of  the  Basilica,  and  aban 
doned  all  hope  of  restoring  order.  In  an  incredibly  short 
time  the  vast  area  was  emptied,  Crescentius  being  one  of  the 
last  to  remain  in  its  deepening  shadows.  With  a  degree  of 
vacancy  he  gazed  after  the  vanishing  crowds,  more  gorgeous 
in  their  broken  and  mingled  pomp,  as  they  passed  out  of  the 
high  portals,  than  when  marshalled  hi  due  rank  and  order. 

He  too  was  about  to  leave,  when  he  discerned  a  monk  who 
stood  gazing,  as  it  were,  incredulously  at  the  shattered  altar- 
pavement  and  the  mass  of  iron  deeply  embedded  in  it.  Hastily 
he  advanced  towards  him,  but  as  he  approached  he  was  struck 
by  observing  the  monk  raise  his  eyes,  sparkling  with  mad 
fury,  to  the  lighted  dome  above  and  clench  his  hands  as  if  hi 
defiance  of  its  glory. 

"  Thou  seemest  to  hold  thy  life  rather  as  a  burden  than  a 
blessing,   monk,   since   thus   thou   repayest   thy   salvation," 
Crescentius  addressed  the  friar,  somewhat  staggered  by  his 
attitude. 

"  Ay !  If  I  have  done  Heaven  a  temporal  injury,  —  be 
comforted,  ye  saints  —  for  ye  have  wrought  me  an  eternal 
one!  "  growled  the  monk  between  clenched  teeth. 

"  Heaven  ?  "  questioned  Crescentius,  almost  tempted  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  monk,  whoever  he  was,  was  out  of  his 
senses. 

"  Even  Heaven,"  replied  the  monk.  "  One  cubit  nearer  the 
altar,  —  I  thought  the  struggle  over  in  my  soul  between  the 
dark  angel  and  the  bright  —  I  had  strung  my  soul  to  its  mighty 
task,  —  yet  I  shrank  from  it,  a  second,  and  more  cowardly 
Judas." 

Crescentius  gazed  at  the  friar  without  grasping  his  meaning. 

"  Take  thy  superior  out  of  the  church,  he  is  mad  and 
blasphemes,"  he  turned  to  the  monk's  companion  who  listened 
stolidly  to  his  raving. 

"  Ay !  "  spoke  the  strange  monk,  gnashing  his  teeth  and 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

shaking  his  fist  towards  heaven,  "  even  the  church  shall 
anon  be  rent  in  twain  and  form  a  chasm,  down  which  countless 
generations  shall  tumble  into  the  abyss  —  'twere  just  retri 
bution!" 

"  Tell  me  but  this,  monk,  how  could  Heaven  itself  throw 
obstacles  in  the  way  of  thine  intent  ?  "  questioned  Crescentius, 
perceiving  that  the  monk  had  turned  to  depart  and  more 
convinced  than  ever  that  he  was  speaking  to  a  madman. 

"  How  ?  How  ?  Oh,  thou  slow  of  understanding,  — 
how  ?  " 

And  the  monk  pointed  downward,  to  the  crushed  and 
shattered  marble  of  the  pavement,  in  which  the  iron  clapper 
of  the  bell  lay  embedded. 

Crescentius  receded  involuntarily  before  the  fierce,  insane 
gleam  hi  the  monk's  eyes,  while  the  terrible  import  of  his 
speech  suddenly  flashed  upon  his  understanding.  Crossing 
himself,  he  left  the  strange  friar  to  himself  and  passed  swiftly 
through  the  motley  crowds  which  were  waiting  their  turn  of 
admission  to  the  subterranean  chapel  of  the  Grand  Peniten- 
tiarius. 

Another  had  remained  in  the  dense  gloom  of  the  Basilica, 
though  he  had  not  witnessed  the  scene  which  had  just  come 
to  a  close.  After  the  Pontiff's  departure,  Eckhardt  had  retired 
to  the  shrine  of  Saint  Michael,  where  he  knelt  in  silent  prayer. 
His  mind  was  filled  with  fantastic  imaginings,  inspired  chiefly 
by  his  recent  pilgrimage  to  the  shrines  of  Monte  Gargano. 
The  deep  void  within  him  made  itself  doubly  felt  in  this  hour 
and  more  than  ever  he  felt  the  need  of  divine  interposition  in 
order  to  retain  that  consciousness  of  purpose  which  was  to 
guide  his  future  course. 

At  last  he  arose.  A  remote  chant  fell  upon  his  ears,  and  he 
saw  a  procession  moving  slowly  from  the  refectory  into  the 
nave  of  the  Basilica.  By  the  dusky  glare  of  the  torches,  which 
they  carried,  Eckhardt  distinguished  a  number  of  penitent 

152 


NILUS    OF   GAETA 

friars,  bearing  aloft  the  banner,  destined  in  after-generations 
to  become  the  standard  of  the  Holy  Inquisition,  a  Red  Cross  in 
a  black  field  with  the  motto :  "In  Hoc  Signo  Vinces."  Among 
them  and  seemingly  the  chief  personage,  strode  the  strange 
friar.  With  down-cast  head  and  eyes  he  walked,  eyes  which, 
while  they  seemed  fixed  on  the  ground  in  self-abasement, 
stealthily  scanned  the  features  of  those  he  passed. 

"  I  marvel  the  holy  saints  think  it  worth  while  to  trouble 
themselves  about  the  soul  of  every  putrid,  garlic-chewing 
knave,"  said  an  old  beggar  on  the  steps  of  the  Cathedral  to  an 
individual  with  whose  brief  review  Eckhardt  was  much  struck. 
He  was  a  man  past  the  middle -age,  with  the  sallow  complexion 
peculiar  to  the  peasants  of  the  marshes.  His  broad  hat, 
garnished  with  many  coloured  ribbons,  was  drawn  over  his 
visage,  though  not  sufficiently  so,  to  conceal  the  ghastly  scars, 
with  which  it  was  disfigured.  His  lurking,  suspicious  eye  and 
the  peculiar  manner  with  which,  from  habit,  he  carried  his 
short  cloak  drawn  over  his  breast,  as  if  to  conceal  the  naked 
stiletto,  convinced  Eckhardt  that,  whatsoever  that  worthy 
might  assume  to  be,  he  was  one  of  those  blackest  of  the  scourges 
of  Italy,  which  the  license  of  the  times  had  rendered  fearfully 
numerous,  the  banditti  and  bravi. 

"  Whether  the  saints  care  or  no,"  that  individual  returned, 
"  the  monk  is  competent  to  convert  the  fiend  himself.  What 
an  honour  for  the  brotherhood  to  have  produced  such  a  saint." 

Scarcely  bestowing  more  than  a  thought  upon  so  usual  an 
evidence  of  social  disorder,  which  neither  pontifical  nor  im 
perial  edicts  had  been  able  to  correct,  Eckhardt  passed  out, 
without  noticing  that  he  had  himself  attracted  at  least  equal 
attention  from  the  worthy  described,  who  after  having  satisfied 
his  curiosity,  slunk  back  among  the  crowds  and  was 
lost  to  sight. 


153 


CHAPTER  XII 


RED   FALERNIAN 

HE  palace  of  Theodora  re 
sounded  with  merriment, 
though  it  was  long  past  mid 
night. 

Round  a  long  oval  table  in 
the  great  hall  sat  a  score  or 
more  of  belated  revellers,  their 
Patrician  garbs  in  disorder,  and 
soiled  with  wine,  their  faces 
inflamed,  their  eyes  red  and 
fiery,  their  tongues  heavy  and  beyond  the  bounds  of  control. 
Here  and  there  a  vacant  or  overturned  chair  showed  where  a 
guest  had  fallen  in  the  debauch,  and  had  been  permitted  to 
remain  on  his  self -chosen  bed  of  repose.  A  band  of  players 
hidden  in  a  remote  gallery  still  continued  to  fill  up  the  pauses 
in  the  riotous  clamour  with  their  barbaric  strains. 

At  the  head  of  the  table,  first  hi  place  as  in  rank  sat  Benilo, 
the  Chamberlain.  He  seemed  to  take  little  interest  in  the 
conversation,  for,  resting  his  head  on  his  hands,  he  stared 
into  his  untouched  goblet,  as  if  he  endeavoured  to  cast  some 
augury  from  the  rising  and  vanishing  bubbles  of  the 
wine. 

Next  to  him  sat  Pandulph,  Lord  of  Spoleto  and  Beneventum. 
His  low,  though  well-set  figure,  dark  hair,  keen,  black  eyes 
and  swarthy  features  bespoke  his  semi-barbaric  extraction. 
His  countenance  was  far  from  comely,  when  in  repose,  even 
ugly  and  repulsive,  but  in  his  eyes  lay  the  force  of  a  powerful 

iS4 


RED    FALERNIAN 

will  and  a  depth  and  subtlety  of  intellect,  that  made  men  fear, 
when  they  could  not  love  him.  On  the  right  of  the  Count  sat 
the  Lord  of  Civitella,  a  large,  sensual  man,  with  twinkling 
grey  eyes,  thick  nose  and  full  red  lips.  His  broad  face,  flushed 
with  wine,  glowed  like  the  harvest  moon  rising  above  the 
horizon.  Opposite  him  sat  the  Patricius  Ziazo,  crafty  and 
unscrupulous,  a  parasite  who  flattered  whosoever  ministered 
to  his  pleasure.  The  Patricius  was  conversing  with  an  individ 
ual  who  outshone  Pandulph  in  rapine,  the  Lord  of  Civitella  in 
coarseness  and  himself  in  sycophancy,  Guido  of  Vanossa,  an 
arrogant  libertine,  whose  pinched  features  and  cunning  leer 
formed  the  true  index  to  his  character.  The  Lords  of  Sinigaglia, 
Torre  del  Greece,  Bracciano,  Cavallo  and  Caetano  swelled  the 
roll  of  infamy  on  the  boards  of  Theodora,  —  worthy  predeces 
sors  of  the  Orsini  and  Savelli,  who  were  to  oppress  the  city 
in  after  time. 

Among  those  who  had  marked  the  beginning  of  the  evening 
by  more  than  ordinary  gaiety,  Benilo  had  by  his  splendid 
dissipation  excited  the  general  envy  and  admiration  among 
his  fellow  revellers.  His  face  was  inflamed,  his  dark  eyes 
were  glittering  with  the  adder  tongues  of  the  serpent  wine, 
and  his  countenance  showed  traces  of  unlimited  debauchery. 
It  seemed  to  those  present,  as  if  the  ghost  of  the  girl  Nelida, 
whom  he  had  killed  in  this  very  hall,  was  haunting  him,  so 
madly  did  he  respond  to  the  challenges  from  all  around,  to 
drink.  But  as  the  wine  began  to  flood  every  brain,  as  the  hall 
presented  a  scene  of  riotous  debauch,  his  former  reckless  mood 
seemed  for  the  nonce  to  have  changed  to  its  very  opposite. 
Through  the  fumes  of  wine  the  dead  girl  seemed  to  regard  him 
with  sad,  mournful  eyes. 

"  Fill  the  goblets,"  cried  Pandulph,  with  a  loud  and  still 
clear  voice.  "  The  lying  clock  says  it  is  day.  But  neither 
cock-crows  nor  clock  change  the  purple  night  to  dawn  in  the 
Groves  of  Theodora,  save  at  the  will  of  the  Goddess  herself. 

155 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

Fill  up,   companions!     The  lamp-light  in  the  wine  cup  is 
brighter  than  the  clearest  sun  that  ever  shone." 

"  Well  spoken,  Pandulph !  Name  the  toast  and  we  will 
pledge  it,  till  the  seven  stars  count  fourteen  and  the  seven 
hills  but  one,"  said  the  Cavallo  looking  up.  "  I  see  four  hour 
glasses  even  now  and  every  one  of  them  lies,  if  it  says  it  is 
dawn." 

"  You  shall  have  my  toast,"  said  Pandulph,  raising  his 
goblet.  "  We  have  drunk  it  twenty  times  already,  but  we  will 
drink  it  twenty  times  more :  —  the  best  prologue  to  wine 
ever  devised  by  wit  of  man  —  Woman." 

A  shadow  moved  in  the  dusky  background  and  peered  unseen 
into  the  hall. 

"And  the  best  epilogue,"  replied  the  Lord  of  Civitella, 
visibly  drunk.  "  But  the  toast  —  my  cup  is  waiting." 

"  To  the  health  —  wealth  —  and  love  by  stealth  of  Theo 
dora!  "  yelled  Pandulph,  gulping  down  the  contents  of  his 
goblet. 

Benilo's  face  turned  ashen  pale,  but  he  smiled. 

"To  Theodora!" 

Every  tongue  repeated  the  name,  the  goblets  were  drained. 

"  My  Lord,  it  is  your  turn  now,"  said  Pandulph,  turning  to 
the  Lord  of  Civitella.  "  The  good  folks  of  Urbino  have  not  yet 
rung  the  fire-bells  against  you,  but  some  say  they  soon  will. 
Who  shall  it  be  ?  " 

The  Lord  of  Civitella  filled  up  his  cup  with  unsteady  hand, 
until  it  was  running  over  and  propping  his  body  against  the 
table  as  he  stood  up,  he  said: 

"  A  toast  to  Roxane" !  And  as  for  my  foragers  —  they  sweep 
clean." 

The  toast  was  drunk  with  rapturous  applause. 

"  Right  you  are,"  bellowed  the  Cavallo.  "  Better  brooms 
were  never  made  on  the  Posilippo,  —  not  a  straw  lies  in 
your  way." 

156 


RED    FALERNIAN 

"  Did  you  accomplish  it  without  fight  ?  "  sneered  the  Lord 
of  Bracciano. 

"  Fight  ?  Why  fight  ?  The  burghers  never  resist  a  noble ! 
We  conjure  the  devil  down  with  that.  When  we  skin  our 
eels,  we  don't  begin  at  the  tail." 

"  Better  to  steal  the  honey,  than  to  kill  the  bees  that  make  it." 

"  But  what  became  of  the  women  and  children  after  this 
swoop  of  your  foragers  ?  "  asked  the  Lord  of  Bracciano,  who 
appeared  to  entertain  some  few  isolated  ideas  of  honour 
floating  on  the  top  of  the  wine  he  had  gulped  down. 

"  The  women  and  children  ?  "  replied  the  Lord  of  Civitella 
with  a  mocking  air,  crossing  his  thumbs,  like  the  peasants  of 
Lugano,  when  they  wish  to  inspire  belief  in  their  words. 
"  They  can  breakfast  by  gaping!  They  can  eat  wind,  like  the 
Taren tines,  —  it  will  make  them  spit  clear." 

The  Lord  of  Bracciano,  irritated  at  the  mocking  sign  and 
proverbial  allusion  to  the  gaping  propensities  of  the  people 
round  the  Lago,  started  up  hi  wrath  and  struck  his  clenched 
fist  on  the  table. 

"  My  Lord  of  Civitella,"  he  cried,  "  do  not  cross  your  damned 
thumbs  at  me,  else  I  will  cut  them  off!  The  people  of  Brac 
ciano  have  still  corn  hi  plenty,  until  your  thieving  bands 
scorch  their  ringers  hi  the  attempt  to  steal  it." 

Andrea  Cavallo  interposed  to  stop  the  rising  quarrel. 

"  Do  not  mind  the  Lord  of  Civitella,"  he  whispered  to 
Bracciano.  "  He  is  drunk !  " 

"  The  rake !  The  ingrate !  "  growled  Bracciano,  "  after 
my  men  opened  the  traps,  in  which  the  Vicar  of  the  Church 
had  caught  him." 

"  Nay!  If  you  gape  at  man's  ingratitude,  your  mouth  will 
be  wide  enough,  ere  you  die,  my  lord,"  spoke  Pandulph  with 
a  sardonic  laugh.  "  And  men  in  our  day  stand  no  more  on 
precedence  in  plots  than  hi  love  affairs,  —  do  they,  my  lord 
Benilo  ?  " 

157 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

"  Nay,  I'll  dispute  no  man's  right  to  be  hanged  or  quartered 
before  me  —  least  of  all  yours,  my  Lord  Pandulph,"  the 
Chamberlain  replied  venomously. 

"  My  lord  Benilo,"  replied  Pandulph,  "  you  are,  when 
drunk,  the  greatest  ruffian  in  Christendom,  and  the  biggest 
knave  when  sober.  Bring  in  more  tankards,  and  we  will  not 
look  for  day  till  midnight  booms  again  on  the  old  tower  of  San 
Sebastian !  I  call  for  full  brimmers,  varlets,  —  bring  your 
largest  cups!  We  will  drink  another  toast  five  fathoms  deep 
in  wine,  strong  enough  to  melt  Cleopatra's  pearls,  and  to  a 
jollier  dame  than  Egypt's  queen." 

The  servitors  flew  out  and  in.  In  a  few  moments  the  table 
was  replenished  with  huge  drinking  cups,  silver  flagons  and 
all  the  heavy  impediments  of  the  army  of  Bacchus. 

"  We  drink  to  the  Fair  Lady  of  the  Groves,  —  and  in  her 
presence,  too ! "  shouted  the  Lord  of  Spoleto,  raising  his 
goblet  anew.  "  Why  is  she  not  among  us  ?  They  say,"  he 
turned  to  Benilo  with  a  sneer,  "  that  you  are  so  jealous  of  the 
charms  of  your  bird  of  paradise,  that  you  have  forbidden  her  to 
appear  before  your  friends." 

Roaring  peals  of  laughter  crowned  Pandulph's  speech. 

Benilo  saw  the  absurdity  of  anger,  but  he  felt  it  never 
theless. 

"  She  chooses  not  to  leave  her  bower  even  to  look  on  you,  my 
Lord  Pandulph.  I  warrant  you,  she  has  not  slept  all  night, 
listening  to  your  infernal  din." 

A  renewed  outburst  of  mirth  was  the  response. 

"  Then  you  will  permit  us  to  betake  ourselves  forthwith 
to  her  gilded  chamber  to  implore  pardon  on  our  knees  for 
disturbing  her  rest." 

"  Well  spoken  —  by  the  boot  of  St.  Benedict !  "  roared 
Guido  of  Vanossa. 

"  You  may  measure  my  foot  and  satisfy  yourself  that  I  am 
able  to  wear  it,"  shouted  the  Lord  of  Civitella.  "  On  our  knees 

158 


RED    FALERNIAN 

we  will  crawl  to  the  Sanctuary  of  our  Goddess,  —  on  our 
knees !  " 

"  But  before  we  start  on  our  pilgrimage,  we  will  drain  a 
draught  long  as  the  bell-rope  of  the  Capitol,"  bellowed  the  Lord 
of  Bracciano. 

"Fill  up  the  tankards!"  exclaimed  the  Lord  of  Spoleto. 
"  My  goblet  is  as  empty  as  an  honest  man's  purse,  —  and  one 
of  my  eyes  is  sober  yet." 

"  Do  not  take  it  to  heart!  "  spoke  Guido  of  Vanossa,  whose 
eyes  were  full  of  tears  and  wine.  "  You  will  not  die  in  the 
jolly  fellow's  faith !  "  And  with  unsteady  voice  he  began  to 
sing  a  stanza  in  dog-Latin : 

"  Dum  Vinum  potamus 
Fratelli  cantiamo 
A  Bacco  sia  Onore  ! 
Te  Deum  laudamus !  *' 

"  Would  your  grace  had  a  better  voice,  you  have  a  good 
will !  "  stammered  the  lord  of  Sinigaglia.  "  '  Tis  ample  time 
to  repent  when  you  can  do  no  better.  Besides  —  if  you  are 
damned,  it  is  in  rare  good  company! " 

"Ay!  Saint  and  Sinner  come  to  the  same  end!  "  gurgled 
the  Lord  Pandulph,  ogling  the  purple  Falernian. 

"  Fill  up  your  goblets !  Though  it  be  a  merry  life  to  lead, 
I  doubt  if  it  will  end  in  so  cheery  a  death !  "  said  Benilo,  his  eye 
wandering  slowly  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  Fill  up  the  goblets !  "  shouted  the  Lord  of  Spoleto,  rising 
and  supporting  his  bulky  carcass  on  the  heavy  oaken  table. 

With  a  sleepy  leer  he  blinked  at  the  guests. 

"  Down  on  your  knees,"  he  roared  suddenly,  his  former 
intent  reverting  to  him.  "  To  the  Sanctuary  of  the  Goddess ! 
On  our  knees  we  will  implore  her  to  receive  us  into  her  favour." 

A  strange  spirit  of  recklessness  had  seized  Benilo.  Instead 
of  resenting  or  resisting  the  proposition,  he  was  the  first  to  get 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

down  on  all  fours.  His  example  had  an  electrifying  effect. 
Although  they  swayed  to  and  fro  like  sail-boats  on  angry  sea- 
waves,  all  those  still  sober  enough  imitated  the  Chamberlain 
amid  cheers  and  grunts,  and  slowly  the  singular  procession, 
led  by  Benilo,  set  in  motion  with  the  expressed  purpose  of 
invading  Theodora's  apartments,  which  were  situated  beyond 
the  great  hall.  The  Lord  Pandulph  resembled  some  huge 
bear  as  on  all  fours  he  hobbled  across  the  mosaic  floor  beside 
the  Lord  of  Bracciano,  who  panted,  grunted  and  swore  and 
called  on  the  saints,  to  witness  his  self-abasement.  Being 
gouty  and  stout,  he  was  at  one  time  seized  with  a  cramp  hi  his 
leg  and  struck  out  vigorously  with  the  result  of  striking  the 
Lord  of  Civitella  squarely  in  the  jaw,  whereupon  the  latter, 
toppling  over,  literally  flooded  the  hall  with  profanity  and 
surplus  wine.  The  other  ten  hobbled  behind  the  leaders, 
cursing  their  own  folly,  but  enjoying  to  a  degree  the  novelty 
of  the  pageant. 

Thus  they  had  traversed  the  great  hall  at  a  speed  as  great 
as  their  singular  mode  of  locomotion  and  their  intoxicated 
condition  would  permit.  The  background  of  the  hall  was  but 
dimly  lighted;  the  great  curtain  strung  between  the  two 
massive  pillars,  which  guarded  the  entrance  into  Theodora's 
apartments,  excluded  the  glow  of  the  multi-coloured  lamps, 
strung  hi  regular  intervals  in  the  corridor  beyond. 

Benilo  was  the  first  to  reach  the  curtain.  Resting  one 
hand  on  the  floor,  he  raised  the  other,  after  the  manner  of  a 
dog,  trying  to  push  its  folds  aside,  when  they  suddenly  and 
noiselessly  parted.  Something  hissed  through  the  air,  striking 
the  object  of  its  aim  a  stinging  blow  in  the  face  —  a  cry  of 
pain  and  rage,  and  Benilo,  who  had  sprung  to  his  feet,  stood 
face  to  face  with  Theodora.  At  the  same  moment  the  lights 
in  the  great  hall  were  turned  on  to  a  full  blaze,  revealing  in 
its  entire  repelling  atrocity  the  spectacle  of  the  drunken 
revellers,  who,  upon  experiencing  a  sudden  check  to  their 

160 


RED    FALERNIAN 

further  progress,  had  come  to  a  sluggish  halt,  some  of  them 
unable  to  retain  their  balance  and  toppling  over  in  their  tracks. 

"  Beasts !  Swine !  "  hissed  the  woman,  her  eyes  ablaze  with 
wrath,  the  whip  which  had  struck  Benilo  in  the  face,  still 
quivering  in  her  infuriated  grasp.  "  Out  with  you  —  out!  " 

The  sound  of  a  silver  whistle,  which  she  placed  between  her 
lips,  brought  some  five  or  six  giant  Africans  to  the  spot.  They 
were  eunuchs,  whose  tongues  had  been  torn  out,  and  who, 
possessing  no  human  weakness,  were  ferocious  as  the  wild 
beasts  of  their  native  desert.  Theodora  gave  them  a  brief  com 
mand  in  their  own  tongue  and  ere  the  amazed  revellers  knew 
what  was  happening  to  them,  they  found  themselves  picked 
up  by  dusky,  muscular  arms  and  unceremoniously  ejected  from 
the  hall,  those  lying  in  a  semi-conscious  stupor  under  the 
tables  sharing  the  same  fate. 


161 


CHAPTER  XIII 


DEAD    LEAVES 


HILE  the  Nubians  set  about  in 
cleaning  the  hall  and  removing 
the  last  vestiges  of  the  night's 
debauch,  Theodora  faced  Benilo 
with  such  contempt  in  her  dark 
eyes,  that  for  a  moment  the 
Chamberlain's  boasted  insolence 
almost  deserted  him,  and  though 
seething  with  rage  at  the  chas 
tisement  inflicted  upon  him  he 
awaited  her  speech  in  silence.  She  faced  him,  leaning  against 
a  marble  statue,  her  hands  playing  nervously  with  the  whip. 

"  For  once  I  have  discovered  you  in  your  true  station,  the 
station  of  the  foul,  crouching  beast,  to  which  you  were  born, 
had  not  some  accident  played  into  the  devil's  hands  by  giving 
you  the  glittering  semblance  of  the  snake,"  she  said  slowly  and 
with  a  disdain  ringing  from  her  words,  which  cut  even  his 
debased  nature  to  the  core.  "  I  have  whipped  you,  as  one  whips 
a  cur :  do  you  still  desire  me  for  your  wife  ?  " 

With  lips  tightly  compressed  he  looked  down,  not  daring  to 
meet  her  fierce  gaze  of  hatred,  which  was  burning  into  his  very 
brain. 

"  I  see  little  reason  for  changing  my  mind,"  he  replied  after 
a  brief  pause,  while  as  he  spoke  his  cheek  seemed  to  burn 
with  shame,  where  the  whip  had  struck  it,  and  her  evil,  terrible 
beauty,  exposed  in  her  airy  night-robe,  roused  all  the  wild 
demoniacal  passions  in  his  soul. 

162 


DEAD    LEAVES 

The  whip  trembled  in  her  hands. 

"  And  you  call  yourself  a  man!  "  she  said  with  a  withering 
look  of  contempt,  under  which  he  winced. 

Then  she  continued  in  a  hard  and  cheerless  voice,  wherein 
spoke  more  than  simple  aversion,  a  voice  that  seemed  as  it 
were  petrified  with  grief,  with  remorse  and  hatred  of  the  man 
who  had  been  the  cause  of  her  fall. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Benilo,  —  mark  well  my  words.  What  I 
have  been,  you  know :  the  beloved,  the  adored  wife  of  a  man, 
who  would  have  carried  me  through  life's  storms  under  the 
shelter  of  his  love,  —  a  man,  who  would  have  shed  the  last 
drop  of  his  life's  blood  for  Ginevra,  —  that  was.  For  two 
years  we  lived  in  happiness.  I  had  begged  him  never  to  lift 
the  veil  which  shrouded  my  birth,  —  a  wish  he  respected,  a 
promise  he  kept.  In  the  field  and  at  court  he  pursued  the 
even  tenor  of  his  way,  —  happy  and  content  with  my  love. 
Then  there  crept  into  our  home  a  hypocrite,  a  liar,  a  fiend, 
who  could  mock  the  devils  in  hell  to  scorn.  He  stands  there,  — • 
Benilo,  his  name,  —  a  foul  thing,  who  shrank  from  nothing 
to  gain  his  ends.  Some  fiend  revealed  to  him  the  awful  secret 
of  Ginevra's  birth,  a  secret  which  he  used  to  draw  her  step 
by  step  from  the  man  she  loved,  to  perpetrate  a  deceit,  the 
cunning  of  which  would  put  the  devils  to  blush.  He  promised 
to  restore  to  her  what  is  her  own  by  right  of  her  birth.  He 
roused  in  her  all  the  evil  which  ran  riot  in  her  blood,  and  when 
she  had  given  herself  to  him,  he  revealed  himself  the  lying  fiend 
he  was.  Stung  by  the  furies  of  remorse,  which  haunted  her 
night  and  day,  —  in  her  despair  the  woman  made  her  love  the 
prize,  wherewith  to  purchase  that  for  which  she  had  broken 
the  holiest  ties.  But  those  she  made  happy  were  beasts,  — 
enjoying  her  favour,  giving  nothing  in  return.  My  heart  is 
sick  of  it,  —  sick  of  this  sham,  sick  of  this  baseness.  Heaven 
once  vouchsafed  me  a  sinner's  glimpse  of  paradise,  of  a  home 
of  purity  and  peace  where  indeed  I  might  have  been  a  queen,  — 

163 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

a  queen  so  different  from  the  one  who  rules  a  gilded  charnel- 
house." 

Benilo  had  listened  in  silent  amazement.  He  failed  to 
sound  the  drift  of  Theodora's  speech.  The  whip-lash  burned 
on  his  cheek.  Her  sudden  dejection  gave  him  back  some  of 
his  former  courage. 

"  I  believe  Theodora  is  discovering  that  she  once  possessed 
a  conscience,"  he  said  with  a  sardonic  smile.  "  How  does  the 
violent  change  agree  with  you  ?  "  he  drawled  insolently,  for 
the  first  time  raising  his  eyes  to  hers. 

She  appeared  not  to  heed  the  question,  but  nodding  wearily 
she  said: 

"  I  am  not  myself  to-night.  Despite  all  which  has  happened, 
I  stand  here  a  suppliant  before  the  man  who  has  ruined  my 
life.  I  have  something  else  to  say." 

"  Then  I  fear  you  have  played  your  game  and  lost,"  he  said 
brutally. 

Theodore  interrupted  his  speech  with  a  gesture,  and  when  she 
spoke,  a  shade  of  sadness  touched  her  halting  tones. 

"  Last  night  he  came  to  me  in  my  dream.  —  I  will  never 
forget  the  expression  with  which  he  regarded  me.  I  am  weary 
of  it  all,  —  weary  unto  death." 

"  Unfortunately  our  wager  does  not  concern  itself  with 
sleep-walking  —  though  it  seems  your  only  chance  of  luring 
your  over-scrupulous  mate  to  your  bower." 

The  woman  started. 

"  Surely,  you  do  not  mean  to  hold  me  to  the  wager  ?  " 

He  smiled  sardonically. 

"  Considering  the  risk  I  run  in  this  affair  —  why 
not  ?  Eckhardt  is  a  man  of  action  —  so  is  Benilo,  —  who 
has  performed  the  rare  miracle  of  compelling  the  grave 
to  return  to  his  arms  Ginevra,  a  queen  indeed,  —  of  her 
kind." 

Surely  some  extraordinary  change  had  taken  place  hi  the 

164 


DEAD    LEAVES 

bosom  of  the  woman  before  him.     She  received  the  thrust 
without  parrying  it. 

"  I  see,"  he  continued  after  a  brief  pause,  "  Eckhardt  proves 
too  mighty  a  rock,  even  for  Theodora  to  move !  " 

"  His  will  is  strong  —  but  all  night  in  his  lonely  cell  he 
called  Ginevra's  name." 

"  You  are  well  informed.  Why  not  take  the  veil  your 
self,  —  since  a  life  of  serene  placidity  seems  so  suddenly  to 
your  taste  ?  " 

"  And  where  is  it  written  that  I  shall  not  ?  "  she  questioned, 
looking  him  full  in  the  eye.  Benilo  winced.  If  she  would 
but  quarrel.  He  felt  insecure  in  her  present  mood. 

"  Here  —  on  the  tablets  of  my  memory,  where  a  certain 
wager  is  recorded,"  he  replied. 

She  turned  upon  him  angrily. 

"  It  is  you  who  forced  me  to  it  against  my  will.  —  I  took 
up  your  gauntlet,  stung  by  your  biting  ridicule,  goaded  by 
your  insults  to  a  weak  and  senseless  folly." 

"  Then  you  acknowledge  yourself  vanquished  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  vanquished.  What  I  undertake,  I  carry  through 
—  if  I  wish  to  carry  it  through." 

"  It  has  to  my  mind  ceased  to  be  a  matter  of  choice  with 
you,"  drawled  the  Chamberlain.  "  In  three  days  Eckhardt's 
fate  will  be  sealed,  —  as  far  as  this  world  of  ours  is  concerned. 
You  see,  your  chances  are  small  and  you  have  no  time  to  lose." 

"  Day  after  to-morrow  —  holy  Virgin  —  so  soon  ?  "  gasped 
Theodora. 

"  You  have  inadvertently  called  on  one  whose  calls  you 
have  not  of  late  returned,"  sneered  the  Chamberlain,  with 
insolent  nonchalance. 

"  Day  after  to-morrow,"  Theodora  repeated,  stroking  her 
brow  with  one  white  hand.  "  Day  after  to-morrow!  " 

"  Do  not  despair,"  Benilo  drawled  sardonically.  "  Much 
can  happen  in  two  days." 

165 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear  him.  Her  thoughts  seemed  to 
roam  far  away.  Then  they  returned  to  earth.  For  a  moment 
she  studied  the  man  before  her  in  silence,  then  dropping  the 
whip,  she  stretched  out  her  hand  to  him. 

"  Release  me  from  this  wager,"  she  pleaded,  "  and  all 
shall  be  forgotten  and  forgiven." 

He  did  not  touch  the  hand.     It  fell. 

"  Theodora,"  he  whispered  hoarsely.  "  You  will  never 
know  how  I  love  you!  I  am  not  as  evil  as  I  seem.  But 
there  are  moments  when  I  lose  control  and  madness  chokes 
my  better  self,  hi  the  hopeless  hunt  for  your  love.  Theodora  — 
bury  the  past !  Give  up  this  baleful  existence  —  live  with  me 
again." 

She  laughed  a  shrill  laugh. 

"  Your  concubine !    And  you  have  the  courage  to  ask  this?  " 

"  You  know  I  love  the  very  ground  you  tread  on." 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  to  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Is  not  that  enough  ?  " 

"No  —  it  is  not  enough!  "  she  replied  with  flashing  eyes. 
"  Between  us  stand  the  barriers  of  eternity !  " 

He  paled. 

"  Do  not  dismiss  me  like  this.  It  is  far  more  cruel  than  you 
know.  If  you  kill  my  hope,  you  leave  me  a  prey  to  the  devils 
of  jealousy  and  madness,  —  the  evil  things  of  your  own 
creation!  Come  back  to  me!  I  only  ask  the  love  you  gave 
me  once,  —  the  love  you  thought  you  gave  me,  —  a  gram,  a 
crumb." 

She  turned  her  face  away. 

"  Never  again !     Never  again !  " 

The  fevered  blood  raced  swiftly  from  his  cheek.  For  a 
moment  he  watched  her  in  silence,  his  eyes  like  slits  in  his 
hard,  pale  face,  then  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  laughed  aloud. 

A  shudder  she  could  not  repress  crept  over  the  woman's 
soft,  white  skin. 

1 66 


DEAD    LEAVES 

"  Benilo !  "  she  called  to  him.  He  turned  and  came  slowly 
back. 

"  Benilo,"  she  continued  nervously,  "  release  me  from  this 
wager !  I  cannot  go  on  —  I  cannot.  If  he  is  bent  upon  leaving 
the  world,  let  him  retire  in  peace  and  do  not  stir  the  misery 
which  lies  couchant  in  the  hidden  depths  of  his  soul.  He  has 
suffered  enough,  —  more  than  enough,  —  more  than  should 
fall  to  one  man's  lot.  Do  not  drive  me  to  madness,  —  I 
cannot  do  it  —  I  cannot." 

"  Your  thoughts  are  only  for  him.  For  me  you  have  noth 
ing,"  he  replied  fiercely. 

"  I  owe  him  everything  —  nothing  to  you!  " 

"  Then  go  to  him,  to  release  you,  —  I  will  not!  " 

"  I  cannot  do  it !     Be  merciful !  " 

The  Chamberlain  bowed  and  answered  mockingly. 

"  It  rests  with  you !  " 

"  With  me  ?  " 

"  Acknowledge  your  defeat!  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked  with  rising  fear. 

Benilo  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  We  made  a  wager  —  the  loser  pays." 

"  But  the  forfeit  ?  "  she  cried  in  terror.  "  You  would  not 
claim  —  you  would  not  chain  me  to  you  for  ever  ?  " 

He  regarded  her  with  a  slow  triumphant  smile  and  answered 
cruelly : 

"  Forever  ?  At  one  time  the  thought  had  less  terrors  for 
you!" 

She  disregarded  his  sarcasm,  continuing  in  the  same  plaintive 
tone  of  entreaty,  which  was  music  in  Benilo's  ear. 

"  But  surely  —  you  do  not  mean  it !    You  would  not  profit 
by  a  woman's  angry  folly.     I  was  mad,  —  insane,  —  I  knew 
not  what  I  said,  what  I  did !    Benilo,  I  will  admit  defeat,  - 
failure,  —  anything,  —  only    release    me    from    this    fearful 
wager.    I  ask  you  as  a  man,  —  have  pity  on  me !  " 

167 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

"  What  pity  have  you  lavished  on  me  ?  " 

"  Were  you  deserving  of  pity  ?  " 

"  My  love  —  " 

"  Your  love !  What  is  your  love,  but  the  lust  of  the  wild 
beast  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  flying  into  a  passion,  but  instantly 
checking  herself. 

"  Think  of  it,  Benilo,"  she  urged  in  desperation,  "  I  could 
conquer,  if  I  would.  Once  Eckhardt  lays  eyes  on  me,  I  can 
lead  him  to  my  will.  Never  can  I  forget  the  look  he  gave  me 
when  I  faced  him  before  my  own  tomb  in  the  churchyard  of 
San  Pancrazio.  Never  will  that  wild  expression  of  despair  and 
longing,  which  spoke  to  me  from  his  mute  eyes,  fade  from 
my  memory.  Whether  he  believed  that  I  was  a  pale,  mocking 
phantom  —  what  he  imagined  that  I  was,  I  know  not  —  I 
could  win  him,  if  I  would." 

"Then  win  him!"  snarled  Benilo,  through  his  straight 
thin  lips. 

"No!  No!"  she  cried  piteously.  "Eckhardt  is  noble. 
He  believed  in  me,  —  he  trusted  me.  He  believes  me  dead. 
He  has  no  inkling  of  the  vile  thing  I  am!  I  listened  to  his 
prayer  to  the  Virgin  —  once  more  he  asked  to  see  the  face  of 
the  woman  he  had  loved  above  everything  on  earth.  And  you 
ask  me  to  tear  the  veil  from  his  eyes  and  drag  him  down  into 
the  sloth  and  slime  of  my  existence !  His  faith  falls  upon  me 
like  a  knotted  scourge,  —  his  love  —  a  blow  upon  my  guilty 
head.  He  gave  me  life-long  love  in  payment  for  a  lie ;  he  gave 
me  love  unwavering  and  true  beyond  the  grave.  When  I 
think  of  it  all  —  I  long  to  die  of  shame !  You  caused  me  to 
believe  he  was  dead,  —  that  he  had  fallen  defending  the  Eastern 
March.  I  thanked  Heaven  for  the  message ;  I  envied  him  his 
eternal  rest.  It  was  one  of  your  black  deceits,  —  perhaps  one 
of  your  mildest.  Let  it  pass !  But  again  to  enter  into  his  life  - 
No!  no!  "  she  moaned.  "  By  the  God  of  Love  —  I  will  not!  " 

She  gave  a  wild  moan  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

168 


DEAD    LEAVES 

Benilo  looked  on  in  silence,  scarce  crediting  the  proof  of 
sight  and  sound.  Once  —  twice  he  moved  his  lips,  ere  speech 
would  flow. 

"  You  have  but  to  choose,"  he  said.  "  Come  to  me  —  my 
wife  or  concubine,  —  I  care  not  which,  and  I  pledge  you  my 
word,  he  shall  die!  I  have  but  spared  him  until  I  sounded 
your  humour!  " 

She  shivered,  and  raised  her  hands  as  if  to  conjure  away 
some  apparition. 

"  No  —  no  —  never!  "  she  gasped.  "  You  would  not  dare! 
You  would  not  dare !  You  are  but  frightening  me !  Have  pity 
on  me  and  let  me  go!  " 

"  I  do  not  detain  you !  Go  if  you  will,  but  remember  the 
wager!  " 

Her  head  drooped,  while  Benilo  drew  nearer,  bending  his 
exultant  eyes  on  her  wilted  form,  and  hi  the  passion  which 
mastered  him,  he  grasped  her  wrists  and  drew  her  hands 
apart,  then  kissed  her  passionately  upon  the  lips. 

With  a  hunted  cry,  she  wrenched  herself  away,  and  leaping 
backward,  faced  him,  her  voice  choked  with  panting  fury : 

"  Fool !  Devil !  Coward !  Could  you  not  respect  a  woman's 
grief  for  the  degradation  you  have  forced  upon  her?  Dog! 
I  might  have  paid  your  forfeit  had  I  died  of  shame !  But  now  — 
I  will  not !  "  She  snapped  her  fingers  in  his  face.  "  This  for 
your  wager !  This  for  an  oath  to  you  —  the  vermin  of  the 
earth!  " 

Benilo  took  a  backward  step,  awed  by  the  flaming  madness 
in  her  eyes. 

"  Take  care !  "  he  growled  threateningly. 

"  The  vermin  that  crawls  in  the  dust,  I  say,"  she  reiterated 
panting,  "the  dust  —  the  dust!  Better  a  thousand  deaths 
than  the  brute  love  you  offer!  Between  us  it  is  a  duel  to  the 
death !  I  will  win  him  back,  —  if  I  have  to  barter  my  evil 
beauty  for  eternal  damnation,  —  if  our  entwined  souls  burn 

169 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

to  crisp  in  purgatory,  —  I  will  win  him  back,  revealing  my 
self  to  him  the  foul  thing  I  am,  —  and  by  way  of  contrast 
sing  your  praises,  my  Lord  Benilo  —  believe  me,  —  the  devils 
themselves  shall  be  wroth  with  jealousy  at  my  song." 

There  was  something  hi  the  woman's  eye,  which  staggered 
the  Chamberlain. 

"  You  would  not  dare !  "  he  exclaimed  aghast. 

"  I  dare  everything !  You  have  challenged  me  and  now 
your  coward  soul  quails  before  the  issue !  —  You  would  have 
me  recede,  —  go !  I've  done  with  you !  " 

"  Not  yet,"  Benilo  replied,  with  his  sinister  drawl  —  edging 
nearer  the  woman.  "  I  have  something  else  to  say  to  you! 
Your  words  are  but  air!  You  have  measured  your  strength 
with  mine  and  failed!  Go  to  your  old  time  love!  Tell  him 
you  found  a  conscience,  —  tell  him  where  you  found  it,  — 
and  see  if  he  allows  you  leisure  to  confess  all  your  other 
peccadilloes,  trifling  though  they  be !  Still  —  the  risk  is 
equal.  I  have  a  mind  to  take  the  chance !  Once  more,  Theo 
dora,  —  confess  yourself  defeated,  —  acknowledge  that  the 
champion  is  beyond  your  reach  —  be  mine  —  and  the  wager 
shall  be  wiped  out!  " 

She  recoiled  from  him,  raising  her  hands  hi  unfeigned 
horror  and  cried : 

"  Never  —  never." 

Benilo  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  As  you  will !  " 

"  Then  you  would  have  me  make  him  untrue  to  his  vows  ? 
You  would  have  me  add  this  sin  too,  to  my  others  ?  " 

He  laughed  sardonically,  while  he  feasted  his  eyes  on  her 
great  beauty. 

"  It  will  not  add  much  to  the  burden,  I  ween." 

She  gave  him  one  look,  in  which  fear  mingled  with  contempt 
and  turned  to  go,  when  with  a  spring,  stealthy  as  the  pan 
ther's,  he  overtook  her,  and  pinning  down  her  arms,  bent 

170 


DEAD    LEAVES 

back  the  proud  head  and  once  more  pressed  his  lips  upon  the 
woman's. 

With  a  cry  like  a  wounded  animal  she  released  herself, 
pushed  him  back  with  the  strength  of  her  vigorous  youth  and 
spat  hi  his  face. 

"  Do  you  still  desire  me  ?  "  she  hissed  with  flaming  eyes. 

He  sprang  at  her  with  a  furious  oath,  but  his  outstretched 
fingers  grasped  the  air.  Theodora  had  vanished.  Recoiling 
from  the  towering  forms  of  the  Africans,  who  guarded  the 
corridor  leading  to  her  apartments,  Benilo  staggered  blindly 
back  into  the  dark  deserted  halls.  Here  he  found  himself  face 
to  face  with  Hezilo  the  harper,  who  seemed  to  rise  out  of  the 
shadows  like  some  ill-omened  phantom. 

"  If  you  waver  now,"  the  harper  spoke  with  his  strange 
unimpassioned  voice,  —  "  you  are  lost !  " 

The  Chamberlain  stopped  before  the  harper's  arresting 
words. 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  "  he  groaned  with  a  deep  breath.  "  My 
soul  half  sinks  beneath  the  mighty  burden  I  have  heaped  upon 
it,  it  quails  before  the  fatal  issue." 

"  You  have  measured  your  strength  with  the  woman's," 
replied  the  harper.  "  She  has  felt  the  conquering  whip-hand. 
Onward !  Unflinchingly !  Relentlessly !  She  dare  not  face  the 
final  issue !  " 

"  I  need  new  courage,  as  the  dread  hour  approaches!  " 
Benilo  replied,  his  breath  coming  fast  between  his  set  teeth. 
"  And  from  your  words,  your  looks,  I  drink  it !  " 

"  Then  take  it  from  this  also:  If  now  you  fail  hardly  the 
grave  would  be  a  refuge." 

Benilo  peered  up  at  his  strange  counsellor. 

"  Man  or  devil,  —  who  are  you  to  read  the  depths  of  the  soul 
of  man  ?  "  he  queried  amazed,  vainly  endeavouring  to  penetrate 
the  vizor,  which  shaded  the  harper's  face. 

"  Perhaps  neither,"  a  voice  answered  which  seemed  to  come 

171 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

from  the  remotest  part  of  the  great  hall,  yet  it  was  Hezilo  the 
harper,  who  spoke,  "  Perchance  some  spirit,  permitted  to 
return  to  earth  to  goad  man  to  his  final  and  greatest  fall." 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  say !  "  Benilo  spoke,  rousing  himself. 
"Onward!  Relentlessly!  Unflinchingly!" 

He  staggered  from  the  hall. 

"  Perhaps  I  too  should  have  flagged  and  failed,  had  not  one 
thought  whispered  hope  to  me  hi  the  long  and  solitary  hours 
which  fill  up  the  interstices  of  time,"  muttered  the  harper, 
gazing  after  the  Chamberlain's  vanishing  form. 

The  voices  died  to  silence.  The  pale  light  of  dawn  peered 
into  the  deserted  hall. 


172 


CHAPTER  XIV 


THE   PHANTOM   AT   THE   SHRINE 


T  last  the  evening  had  come, 
when  Eckhardt  was  for  ever  to 
retire  from  the  world,  to  spend 
the  remainder  of  his  days  in 
prayers  and  penances,  within 
the  dismal  walls  of  the  cloister. 
The  pontiff  himself  was  to 
officiate  at  the  high  ceremony, 
which  was  to  close  the  last 
chapter  in  the  great  general's 
life.  Daylight  was  fading  fast,  and  the  faint  light,  which 
still  glimmered  through  the  western  windows  of  St.  Peter's 
Basilica  had  long  since  lost  its  sunset  ruddiness  and  was  little 
more  than  a  pale  shadow.  The  candles,  their  mighty  rival 
departed,  blazed  higher  now  in  merry  fitfulness,  delighting  to 
play  in  grotesque  imagery  over  the  monkish  faces,  which 
haunted  the  gloom. 

One  end  of  the  Basilica  was  now  luminous  with  the  pale 
glow  of  innumerable  slender  tapers  of  every  length,  ranged  hi 
gradated  order  round  the  altar.  Their  mellow  radiance  drove 
the  gloom  a  quarter  of  the  way  down  the  cathedral.  The 
massive  bronze  doors  at  the  farther  end  were  still  shut  and 
locked.  The  only  way  of  entering  the  church  was  through 
the  sacristy,  by  way  of  the  north  transepts,  to  which  only  the 
monks  had  access.  No  sound  that  should  ring  out  within 
these  mighty  walls  to-night  could  reach  the  ears  of  those  who 
might  be  hi  the  streets  without. 

173 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

Meanwhile  the  quiescent  echoes  of  the  vast  Basilica  were 
disturbed  by  fitful  murmurs  from  the  Sacristy.  Far  in  the 
distance,  from  the  north  transept,  might  be  distinguished 
light  footfalls.  Slowly  a  double  file  of  monks  entered  the 
church,  walking  to  the  rhythm  of  a  subdued  processional  chant, 
which  rose  through  the  sombre  shadows  of  the  aisles.  At  the 
same  time  the  great  portals  of  the  Basilica  were  thrown  open 
to  the  countless  throngs,  which  had  been  waiting  without  and 
which  now,  like  waters  released  from  the  impediment  of  a 
dam,  rushed  into  the  immense  area,  waiting  to  receive  them. 

The  rumour  of  Eckhardt's  impending  consecration  had 
added  no  little  to  the  desire  of  the  Romans  to  be  present  at  a 
spectacle  such  as  had  not  within  the  memory  of  man  fallen  to 
their  lot  to  behold,  and  it  seemed  as  if  all  Rome  had  flocked  to 
the  ancient  Basilica  to  witness  the  great  and  touching  ordeal 
at  which  the  youthful  Pontiff  himself  was  to  officiate.  Seem 
ingly  interminable  processions  of  monks,  bearing  huge  waxen 
tapers,  of  choristers,  acolytes  and  incense-bearers,  with  a 
long  array  of  crosses  and  other  holy  emblems  continued  to 
pour  into  the  Basilica.  The  priests  were  hi  their  bright  robes 
of  high-ceremony.  The  choristers  chanted  a  psalm  as  they 
passed  on  and  the  incense  bearers  swung  their  silver  censers. 

The  Pontiff's  face  was  a  rarely  lovely  one  to  look  upon; 
it  was  that  of  a  mere  youth.  His  chin  was  smooth  as  any 
woman's  and  the  altar  cloth  was  not  as  white  as  his  delicate 
hands.  The  halo  of  golden  hair,  which  encircled  his  tonsure, 
gave  him  the  appearance  of  a  saint.  Marvellously,  indeed, 
did  stole,  mitre  and  staff  become  the  delicate  face  and  figure 
of  Bruno  of  Carinthia,  and  if  there  was  some  incongruity 
between  the  spun  gold  of  his  fair  hair  and  the  severity  of  the 
mitre,  which  surrounded  it,  there  was  none  in  all  that  assembly 
to  note  it. 

At  the  door,  awaiting  the  pontifical  train,  stood  the  venerable 
Gerbert  of  Aurillac,  impressive  in  his  white  and  gold  dalmatica 

174 


THE   PHANTOMAT   THE   SHRINE 

against  the  red  robes  of  the  chapter.  Preceded  by  two  cardinals 
the  Pontiff  mounted  the  steps,  entering  through  the  great 
bronze  portals  of  the  Basilica,  which  poured  a  wave  of  music 
and  incense  out  upon  the  hushed  piazza.  Then  they  closed 
again,  engulfing  the  brilliant  procession. 

The  chant  ceased  and  the  monks  silently  ranged  themselves 
in  a  close  semi-circle  about  the  high-altar.  There  was  a  brief 
and  impressive  silence,  while  the  deep,  melodious  voice  of 
the  Archbishop  of  Rheims  was  raised  in  prayer.  The  monks 
chanted  the  Agnus  Dei,  then  a  deep  hush  of  expectation  fell 
upon  the  multitudes. 

The  faint  echoes  of  approaching  footsteps  now  broke  the 
intense  silence  which  pervaded  the  immense  area  of  the  Basil 
ica.  Accompanied  by  two  monks,  Eckhardt  slowly  strode  down 
the  aisle,  which  the  reverential  tread  of  millions  had  already 
worn  to  unevenness.  In  an  obscured  niche  he  had  waited 
their  signal,  racked  by  doubts  and  fears,  and  less  convinced 
than  ever  that  the  final  step  he  was  about  to  take  would  lead 
to  the  desired  goal.  From  his  station  he  could  distinguish 
faint  silhouettes  of  the  glittering  spars  in  the  vaulting,  and 
the  sculptured  chancel,  twisted  and  beaten  into  fantastic 
shapes  and  the  line  of  ivory  white  Apostles.  As  he  approached 
the  monks  gathered  closely  round  the  chancel,  where,  under 
the  pontifical  canopy,  stood  the  golden  chair  of  the  Vicar  of 
Christ. 

Eckhardt  did  not  raise  his  eyes.  Once  only,  as  in  mute 
questioning,  did  his  gaze  meet  that  of  Gregory,  then  he  knelt 
before  the  altar.  His  ardent  desire  was  about  to  be  fulfilled. 
As  this  momentous  time  approached,  Eckhardt's  hesitation 
in  taking  the  irrevocable  step  seemed  to  dimmish  —  and 
gradually  to  vanish.  He  was  even  full  of  impatient  joy.  Never 
did  bridegroom  half  so  eagerly  count  the  hours  to  his  wedding, 
as  did  the  German  leader  the  moments  which  were  for  ever  to 
relieve  him  of  that  gnawing  pain  that  consumed  bis  soul. 

175 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

In  the  broken  fitful  slumber  of  the  preceding  night  he  had  seen 
himself  chanting  the  mass.  To  be  a  monk  seemed  to  him  now 
the  last  and  noblest  refuge  from  the  torments  which  gnawed 
the  strings  of  his  heart.  At  this  moment  he  would  have  dis 
dained  the  estate  of  an  emperor  or  king.  There  was  no  choice 
left  now.  The  bridge  leading  into  the  past  was  destroyed  and 
Eckhardt  awaited  his  anointment  more  calmly. 

Gregory's  face  was  grave  and  to  a  close  observer  it  would 
have  appeared  to  withhold  approval  from  that  which  added 
greater  glory  to  the  Church,  as  if  anticipating  proportionately 
greater  detriment  for  the  state.  As  Eckhardt  knelt  in  silent 
prayer,  all  but  entranced  in  religious  ecstasy,  he  noted  not  the 
nearness  of  Benilo,  who  watched  him  like  a  tiger  from  the  half 
gloom  of  his  station.  The  hush  in  the  Basilica  was  well-nigh 
oppressive.  The  Romans,  who  had  flocked  hither  to  witness 
the  uncommon  sight  of  a  victorious  leader  abandoning  the 
life  at  a  court  for  the  cassock  of  a  monk,  and  perhaps  inwardly 
calculating  the  immense  consequences  of  a  step  so  grave, 
waited  breathlessly  until  that  step  should  be  accomplished. 
Those  whose  sympathies  lay  with  the  imperial  party  were 
filled  with  grave  misgivings,  for  if  Eckhardt's  example  found 
imitators  in  the  German  host,  the  cause  of  the  emperor  would 
grow  weaker  in  proportion  as  the  prestige  of  the  Romans  and 
the  monks  increased. 

The  benediction  had  been  pronounced.  The  Communion 
in  both  kind  had  been  partaken.  The  palms  of  Eckhardt  had 
been  anointed  with  consecrated  oil,  and  finally  the  celebra 
tion  of  the  Holy  Rite  had  been  offered  up  hi  company  with  the 
officiating  Cardinal. 

It  was  done.  There  remained  little  more  than  the  cutting 
of  the  tonsure,  and  from  the  world,  which  had  once  claimed 
him  —  from  the  world  to  which  he  still  unconsciously  clung 
with  fevered  pulses,  —  Eckhardt  was  to  vanish  for  ever.  As  the 
officiating  Cardinal  of  San  Gregorio  approached  the  kneeling 

176 


THE   PHANTOMAT   THE   SHRINE 

general,  the  latter  chanced  to  raise  his  head.  A  deadly  pallor 
overspread  his  features  as  his  eyes  gazed  beyond  the  ecclesias 
tic  at  one  of  the  great  stone  pillars,  half  of  which  was  wrapt  in 
dense  gloom.  The  ceremony,  so  splendid  a  moment  ago, 
seemed  to  fade  before  the  aspect  of  those  terrible  eyes,  which 
peered  into  his  own  from  a  woman's  face,  pale  as  death. 
Throughout  the  church  darkness  seemed  suddenly  to  reign. 
The  candles  paled  in  their  sconces  of  gold  before  the  glare  of 
those  eyes,  calculated  to  make  or  mar  the  destinies  of  man. 

Against  the  incense  saturated  gloom,  her  beauty  shone  out 
like  a  heavenly  revelation ;  she  seemed  herself  the  fountain  of 
light,  to  give  it  rather  than  to  receive  it.  For  a  moment  Eck- 
hardt  lowered  his  gaze,  little  doubting  but  that  the  apparition 
was  some  new  temptation  of  the  fiend,  to  make  him  waver  at 
the  decisive  moment.  The  ceremony  proceeded.  But  when 
after  a  few  moments,  not  being  able  to  withstand  the  lure,  he 
looked  up  again,  he  saw  her  glittering  in  a  bright  penumbra, 
which  dazzled  him  like  the  burning  disk  of  the  sun.  And  as 
he  gazed  upon  the  strange  apparition,  tall  with  the  carriage  of 
a  goddess,  her  eyes  darting  rays  like  stars,  winging  straight 
for  his  heart  —  and  she  the  very  image  of  his  dead  wife,  just 
as  she  had  appeared  to  him  on  that  memorable  night  in  the 
churchyard  of  San  Pancrazio,  —  he  hardly  knew  whether  the 
flame  that  lighted  those  orbs  came  from  heaven  to  strengthen 
his  resolve,  or  from  hell,  to  foil  it.  But  from  devil  or  angel 
assuredly  it  came. 

Her  white  teeth  shone  in  the  terrible  smile,  with  which  she 
regarded  him.  The  smooth  alabaster  skin  of  her  throat  glistened 
with  a  pearly  sheen.  Her  white  robe,  falling  from  her  head  to 
her  feet,  straight  as  the  winding  sheet  of  death,  matched  the 
marble  pallor  of  her  complexion,  and  her  hands,  seemingly 
holding  the  shroud  in  place,  were  as  white  as  fresh  fallen  snow. 

As  Eckhardt  continued  to  gaze  upon  her,  he  felt  the  flood 
gates  of  his  memory  re-open;  he  felt  the  portals  of  the  past, 

177 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

which  had  seemed  locked  and  barred,  swing  back  upon  their 
hinges,  grating  deep  down  in  his  soul.  And  with  the  sight  of 
the  phantom  standing  before  him,  so  life-like,  so  beautiful, 
all  the  mad  longing  bounded  back  into  his  heart.  Gripped  by 
a  terrible  pain,  he  heard  neither  the  chant,  nor  the  words  of 
the  Cardinal.  Everything  around  him  seemed  to  fade,  but  the 
terrible  being  still  held  his  gaze  with  those  deep  and  marvellous 
eyes,  that  had  all  the  brightness  and  life  of  the  sapphire  seas. 

Eckhardt  felt  he  was  being  carried  far  from  the  sphere  of 
the  cloister  into  a  world  at  whose  gates  new  desires  were 
knocking.  While  he  mechanically  muttered  the  responses  to 
the  queries,  which  the  Cardinal  put  to  him,  his  whole  soul 
began  to  rise  in  arms  against  the  words  his  tongue  was  uttering. 
A  secret  force  seemed  to  drag  them  from  him,  he  felt  the  gaze 
of  the  thousands  weighing  upon  him  like  a  cope  of  lead.  Yet 
it  seemed  that  no  one  in  all  that  vast  assembly  heeded  the 
strange  apparition,  and  if  there  appeared  any  hesitancy  in 
Eckhardt's  responses,  or  a  strange  restlessness  in  his  de 
meanour,  it  was  charged  to  the  consciousness  of  the  mo- 
mentuous  change,  the  responsibility  of  the  irrevocable  step, 
crushing  life,  ambition  and  hope. 

But  the  countenance  of  the  mysterious  apparition  did  not 
change  as  the  ceremony  progressed.  Steadfastly,  with  tender 
and  caressing  gaze  she  seemed  to  regard  him,  her  whole  soul 
in  her  straining  eyes.  With  an  effort,  which  might  have 
moved  a  mountain,  Eckhardt  strove  to  cry  out,  that  he  would 
never  be  a  monk.  It  was  in  vain.  His  tongue  clove  to  the 
roof  of  his  mouth.  Not  even  by  sign  could  he  resist.  Wide 
awake,  he  seemed  to  be  in  the  throes  of  one  of  those  nightmares, 
wherein  one  cannot  utter  the  words  on  which  life  itself  depends. 
The  apparition  seemed  instinctively  to  read  and  to  comprehend 
the  torture,  which  racked  Eckhardt's  breast.  And  the  glance 
she  cast  upon  him  seemed  so  fraught  with  the  echoes  of  despair, 
that  it  froze  his  heart  to  the  core. 

178 


THE  PHANTOM  AT  THE  SHRINE 

Was  it  indeed  but  an  apparition  ? 

Was  this  terrible  semblance  to  his  dead  wife  more  than  a 
mere  accident  ? 

The  chalice,  with  the  blood  of  Christ,  trembled  in  Eckhardt's 
hand.  He  was  about  to  pass  it  to  his  lips.  But  try  as  he 
might,  he  could  not  avert  his  gaze.  Those  terrible  eyes,  the 
marble  calm  of  the  face  of  his  dead  wife  seemed  to  draw  him 
onward,  —  onward.  —  Forgotten  was  church,  and  ceremony, 
and  vow;  forgotten  everything  before  that  phantom  from 
beyond  the  grave.  It  held  him  with  a  power  which  mocked  to 
scorn  every  effort  to  escape  its  spell.  The  apparition  lured 
him  on,  as  almost  imperceptibly  it  began  to  recede,  without 
once  abandoning  its  gaze. 

A  wild  shriek  re-echoed  through  the  high-vaulted  dome 
of  the  Basilica  of  St.  Peter.  It  was  the  shriek  of  a  mad 
man,  who  has  escaped  his  guards,  but  fears  to  be  overtaken. 
The  golden  chalice  fell  from  Eckhardt's  nerveless  grasp,  spilling 
its  contents  over  the  feet  of  the  Cardinal  of  San  Gregorio  who 
raised  his  hands  in  unfeigned  dismay  and  muttered  an  anath 
ema.  Then,  with  a  white,  wet  face,  Eckhardt  staggered  blindly 
to  his  feet,  groping,  with  outstretched  arms,  toward  the  appari 
tion  —  which  seemed  to  recede  farther  and  farther  away  into 
the  gloom. 

The  hush  of  death  had  fallen  upon  the  assembly.  The  monk 
Cyprianus  raised  aloft  his  arms,  as  though  invoking  divine  in 
terposition  and  exorcising  the  fiend.  His  eyes,  the  eyes  of  the 
assembled  thousands  and  the  stare  of  Benilo,  the  Chamberlain, 
followed  the  direction  of  Eckhardt's  outstretched  arms.  Sud 
denly  he  was  seen  to  pause  before  one  of  the  massive  pillars, 
pale  as  death,  mumbling  strange  words,  accompanied  by 
stranger  gestures.  Then  he  gazed  about  like  one  waking  from 
a  terrible  dream  —  the  spot  where  the  apparition  had  mocked 
him  but  a  moment  ago  was  deserted !  Had  it  been  but  another 
temptation  of  the  fiend  ? 

179 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

But  no!  It  was  impossible.  This  woman  had  made  him 
utterly  her  own;  her  glance  had  sufficed  to  snap  asunder  the 
fetters  of  a  self-imposed  yoke,  as  though  her  will,  powerful  even 
after  death,  had  suddenly  passed  upon  him.  Though  he  saw 
her  not  at  the  present  moment,  he  had  but  to  close  his  eyes, 
to  see  her  as  distinctly  as  if  she  were  still  present  hi  the  body. 
And  hi  that  moment  Eckhardt  felt  all  the  horrors  of  the  path 
he  was  about  to  choose,  the  dead  and  terrible  aspect  of  the  life 
he  was  about  to  espouse.  To  be  a  monk,  to  crawl  till  death 
in  the  chill  shade  of  the  cloister,  to  see  none  save  living 
spectres,  to  watch  by  the  nameless  corpses  of  folks  unknown, 
to  wear  his  raiment  for  his  coffin's  pall  —  a  terrible  dread 
seized  him.  One  brief  hour  spent  before  an  altar  and  some  gab 
bled  words  were  about  to  cut  him  off  for  ever  from  the  society  of 
the  living.  With  his  own  hand  he  was  about  to  seal  the  stone 
upon  his  tomb,  and  turn  the  key  in  the  lock  of  the  door  of  Life. 

Like  a  whirlwind  these  thoughts  passed  through  Eckhardt's 
brain.  Then  he  imagined  once  more  that  he  saw  the  eyes  of 
his  dead  wife  gazing  upon  him,  burning  into  the  very  depths 
of  his  soul.  What  made  their  aspect  so  terrible  to  him,  he  was 
not  just  then  in  the  frame  to  analyze.  Some  mysterious 
force,  which  had  left  the  sweetness  of  her  face  unmarred, 
seemed  to  have  imparted  something  to  her  eyes  that  inspired 
him  with  an  unaccountable  dread. 

As  he  paused  thus  before  the  pillar,  pressing  his  icy  hands 
to  his  fevered  temples,  vainly  groping  for  a  solution,  vainly 
endeavouring  to  break  the  fetters  which  bound  his  will  and 
seemed  to  crush  his  strength,  there  broke  upon  his  ears  the 
loud  command  of  the  officiating  monk,  to  return  and  bid  the 
Fiend  desist.  These  words  broke  the  deadly  spell  which  had 
benumbed  his  senses  and  caused  him  to  remain  riveted  to 
the  spot,  where  the  phantom  had  hovered.  His  sunken  eyes 
glared  as  those  of  a  madman,  as  he  slowly  turned  in  response 
to  the  monk's  behest.  The  hot  breath  came  panting  from  be- 

180 


THE  PHANTOM  AT  THE  SHRINE 

tween  his  parched  lips.  Then,  without  heeding  the  ceremony, 
without  heeding  the  monks  or  the  spectators  who  had  flocked 
hither  to  witness  his  consecration,  Eckhardt  dashed  through 
the  circle  of  which  he  had  formed  the  central  figure  and,  ere 
the  amazed  spectators  knew  what  happened  or  the  monks  could 
stem  his  precipitate  flight,  the  chief  of  the  imperial  hosts 
rushed  out  of  the  church  in  his  robes  of  consecration  and 
vanished  from  sight. 

So  quickly,  so  unexpectedly  did  it  all  happen,  that  even  the 
officiating  Cardinal  seemed  completely  paralyzed  by  the  sud 
denness  of  Eckhardt's  flight.  There  was  no  doubt  in  the  mind 
of  Cyprianus  that  the  Margrave  had  gone  mad  and  his  whispered 
orders  sent  two  monks  speeding  after  the  demented  neophyte. 
Deep,  ominous  silence  hovered  over  the  vast  area  of  the  Basilica. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  very  air  was  fraught  with  deep  portent,  and 
ominous  forebodings  of  impending  danger  filled  the  hearts  of 
the  assembled  thousands.  The  people  knelt  in  silent  prayer 
and  breathless  expectation.  Would  Eckhardt  return  ?  Would 
the  ceremony  proceed  ? 

Among  all  those,  who  had  so  eagerly  watched  the  uncommon 
spectacle  of  whose  crowning  glory  they  were  about  to  see  them 
selves  deprived,  there  was  but  one  to  whom  the  real  cause  of 
the  scene  which  had  just  come  to  a  close,  was  no  mystery. 
Benilo  alone  knew  the  cause  of  Eckhardt's  flight.  To  the 
last  moment  he  had  triumphed,  convinced  that  no  temptation 
could  turn  from  his  chosen  path  a  mind  so  stern  as  Eckhardt's. 
But  when  the  effect  of  the  mysterious  vision  upon  the  kneeling 
general  became  apparent,  when  his  restlessness  grew  with 
every  moment,  up  to  the  terrible  climax,  accentuated  by  his 
madman's  yell,  when,  unmindful  of  the  monk's  admonition  — 
he  saw  him  rush  out  of  the  church  in  his  consecrated  robes  — 
then  Benilo  knew  that  the  general  would  not  return.  For  the 
time  all  the  insolent  boastfulness  of  his  nature  forsook  him 
and  he  shivered  as  one  seized  with  a  sudden  chill.  Without 

181 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

awaiting  what  was  to  come,  unseen  and  unnoticed  amidst 
the  all-pervading  consternation,  the  Chamberlain  rushed  out 
of  the  Basilica  by  the  same  door  through  which  Eckhardt 
had  gained  the  open. 

Under  his  canopy  sat  the  Vice-Gerent  of  Christ,  surrounded 
by  the  consecrated  cardinals  and  bishops  and  the  monks  of 
the  various  orders.  Without  an  inkling  of  the  true  cause 
prompting  Eckhardt's  precipitate  flight  Gregory  had  witnessed 
the  terrible  scene,  which  had  just  come  to  a  close.  But  in 
wardly  he  rejoiced.  For  only  when  every  opposition  to  Eck 
hardt's  mad  desire  had  appeared  fruitless,  had  the  Pontiff 
acquiesced  in  granting  to  him  the  special  dispensation,  which 
shortened  the  time  of  his  novitiate  to  the  limit  of  three  days. 

But  it  was  not  a  matter  for  the  moment,  for  Gregory  himself 
was  to  partake  of  the  Communion  and  the  monk  Cyprianus, 
who  was  to  perform  the  holy  office,  a  tribute  to  the  order 
whose  superior  he  was,  had  just  blessed  the  host.  In  his 
consecrated  hand  the  wine  was  to  turn  into  the  blood  of  Christ, 
Gregory  had  just  partaken  of  the  holy  wafer.  Now  the  monk 
placed  the  golden  tube  in  the  golden  chalice  and,  drawing  his 
cowl  deeply  over  his  forehead,  passed  the  other  end  of  the 
tube  to  the  Pontiff. 

Gregory  placed  the  golden  tube  to  his  lips,  and  as  he  sipped 
the  wine,  changed  into  blood,  the  two  cardinals  on  duty  ap 
proached  the  sacred  throne,  a  torch  in  one  hand,  a  small 
bundle  of  tow  in  the  other.  According  to  custom  they  set  the 
tow  on  fire. 

Again  the  unison  chant  of  the  monks  resounded;  the 
assembled  thousands  lying  prostrate  in  prayer. 

Suddenly  there  arose  a  strange  bustle  round  the  pontifical 
canopy.  Suppressed  murmurs  broke  the  silence.  Monks  were 
to  be  seen  rushing  hither  and  thither.  Gregory  had  fainted ! 
The  monk  Cyprianus  seemed  vainly  endeavouring  to  revive 
him.  For  a  moment  the  crowds  remained  in  awe-struck 

182 


THE  PHANTOM  AT  THE  SHRINE 

silence,  then,  as  if  the  grim  spectre  of  Death  had  visibly  ap 
peared  amongst  them,  the  terror-stricken  worshippers  rushed 
out  of  the  Basilica  of  St.  Peter  and  soon  the  terrible  rumour 
was  rife  in  the  streets  of  Rome.  Pope  Gregory  the  Fifth  was 
dying. 


183 


CHAPTER  XV 


THE    DEATH    WATCH 

HE  sun  had  sunk  to  rest  and 
the  noises  of  the  day  were 
dying  out,  one  by  one.  The 
deep  hush  of  the  hour  of  dusk 
settled  once  more  over  the  city, 
shaken  to  its  very  depths  by 
the  terrible  catastrophe  and  up 
heaved  by  the  fanaticism  of  the 
monks,  who  roused  the  populace 
to  a  paroxysm  of  frenzy  and 
fear  which  gave  way  to  pandemonium  itself,  when  the  feelings 
of  the  masses,  strung  to  their  utmost  tension,  leaped  into  the 
opposite  extreme.  Crescentius  had  remained  shut  up  hi  Castel 
San  Angelo,  but  the  monk  Cyprianus  could  be  seen  stalking 
through  the  city  at  the  hour  of  dusk,  and  whosoever  met  him 
crossed  himself  devoutly,  and  prayed  to  have  time  for  con 
fession,  when  the  end  was  nigh. 

The  importance  of  the  impending  change  impressed  itself 
upon  every  mind.  The  time  when  worldly  power  alone  could 
hope  to  successfully  cope  with  the  crying  evils  of  a  fast  decaying 
age,  of  a  world,  grown  old  and  stale  and  rotten,  upon  which 
had  not  yet  fallen  the  beam  of  the  Renaissance,  was  not  yet  at 
hand,  and  the  fatal  day  of  Canossa  had  not  yet  illumined  the 
century  with  its  lurid  glare. 

Therefore  Otto  had  chosen  Bruno,  the  friend  of  his  boyhood, 
for  the  highest  honours  in  Christendom,  Bruno,  one  in  mind, 
one  in  soul  with  himself,  and  the  Conclave  had  by  its  vote 

184 


THE    DEATH    WATCH 

ratified  the  imperial  choice.  But  Bruno  himself  had  not  wished 
the  honour.  While  he  shared  the  high  ideals  of  his  royal 
friend  he  lacked  that  confidence  in  himself,  which  was  so 
essential  a  requirement  for  the  ruler  whose  throne  swayed 
on  the  storm-tossed  billows  of  the  Roman  See.  Bruno  was 
of  a  rather  retrospective  turn  of  mind,  and  it  was  doubtful, 
whether  he  would  be  able  to  carry  out  the  sweeping  reforms 
planned  by  Theophano's  idealistic  son,  and  regarded  with 
secret  abhorrence  by  the  Italian  cardinals.  Only  with  the  aid 
of  the  venerable  Gerbert  had  Gregory  consented  to  enter  upon 
the  grave  duties  awaiting  him  at  the  head  of  the  Christian 
world  at  a  time  when  that  world  seemed  to  totter  in  its  very 
foundations.  And  he  had  paid  the  penalty,  cut  down  in  the 
prime  of  life. 

In  the  Vatican  chapel  on  a  bier,  round  which  were  burning 
six  wax  candles  in  silver-sticks,  lay  the  fast  decaying  body  of 
Gregory  V.  Terrible  rumours  concerning  the  Pontiff's  death 
were  abroad  in  the  city.  The  doors  of  the  Pope's  private  apart 
ments  had  been  found  locked  from  within.  The  terrified 
attendants  had  not  ventured  to  return  to  the  Vatican  until  the 
gray  morning  light  of  the  succeeding  day  broke  behind  the 
crests  of  the  Apennines.  They  had  broken  down  the  door, 
rumour  had  it,  but  to  recoil  from  the  terrible  sight  which  met 
their  eyes.  On  his  bed  lay  the  dead  Pontiff.  The  head  and 
right  arm  almost  touched  the  floor,  as  if  in  the  death-struggle 
he  had  lost  his  balance.  Traces  of  burnt  parchment  on  the 
floor  and  an  empty  phial  on  the  table  beside  him  intensified, 
rather  than  cleared  up  the  mystery.  And  as  they  approached, 
terror-stricken,  and  endeavoured  to  lift  the  body,  the  right  arm 
almost  severed  itself  from  the  trunk  at  their  touch,  and  the  body 
was  fast  turning  black.  The  handsome  features  of  the  youth 
were  gray  and  drawn,  his  hair  clammy  and  dishevelled  and  the 
open  eyes  stared  frightfully  into  space  as  if  vainly  searching 
for  the  murderer. 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

Whatever  Gerbert's  suspicions  were  when,  too  late,  he  ar 
rived  in  the  death  chamber,  no  hint  escaped  his  lips.  Under 
his  personal  care  the  body  of  the  hapless  youth  was  prepared 
for  interment,  then  he  hurriedly  convoked  the  Conclave  and 
ordered  the  gates  of  Rome  closed  against  any  one  attempting 
to  leave  the  city. 

The  Vatican  chapel  was  hung  with  funereal  tapestry. 
Everywhere  were  seen  garlands  of  flowers  entwined  with 
branches  of  cypress.  In  the  middle  of  the  chapel  stood  the  bier, 
covered  with  black  velvet.  A  choir  of  monks,  robed  in  vest 
ments  of  black  damask,  was  chanting  the  last  Requiem.  The 
Cardinal  of  Sienna  was  conducting  the  last  rites.  As  the 
echoes  of  the  chant  died  away  under  the  vaulted  arches,  a 
monk  approached  the  bier,  and  sprinkled  the  corpse  with  holy 
water.  The  Cardinal  pronounced  the  benediction;  the  monk 
bent  slightly  over  the  body  when  a  drop  from  the  forehead  of 
the  dead  Pontiff  rebounded  to  his  face.  He  shuddered  and 
hastily  retreated  behind  the  monks,  who  formed  into  the 
recessional.  Only  two  remained  in  the  chapel.  Contrary  to 
all  custom  they  extinguished  the  candles  which  had  burnt 
down  half-way.  The  smaller  ones  they  left  to  flicker  out, 
until  they  should  pitifully  flare  up  once  more,  then  to  go  out 
in  the  great  darkness  like  the  soul  of  man,  when  his  hour  has 
come. 

The  last  and  only  one  to  remain  within  the  chapel  to  hold 
the  death-watch  with  the  Pontiff,  was  Eckhardt,  the  Margrave. 
Wrapt  in  his  dark  fancies  he  sat  beside  the  bier.  After  his 
precipitate  flight  all  memory  of  what  succeeded  had  vanished. 
Exhausted  and  tottering  he  had  found  himself  in  the  palace 
on  the  Caelian  Mount,  where  he  shut  himself  up  till  the  terrible 
tidings  of  the  Pontiff's  death  penetrated  to  the  solitude  of  his 
abode.  Now  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  moment  he  would  set 
foot  in  the  streets  of  Rome,  some  dark  and  fearful  revelation 
awaited  him.  Since  that  night,  when  the  strange  apparition 

186 


THE    DEATH    WATCH 

had  drawn  him  from  the  altars  of  Christ,  had  caused  him  to 
renounce  the  vows  his  lips  were  about  to  pronounce,  a  terrible 
fear  and  suspicion  had  gripped  his  soul.  The  presentiment  of 
some  awful  mystery  haunted  him  night  and  day,  as  he  brooded 
over  the  terrible  fascination  of  those  eyes,  which  had  laid  their 
spell  upon  him,  the  amazing  resemblance  of  the  apparition  to 
the  wife  of  his  soul,  long  dead  in  her  grave.  And  the  more  he 
pondered  the  heavier  grew  his  heart  within  him,  and  he 
groped  in  vain  for  a  ray  of  light  on  his  dark  and  lonely  path,  — 
vainly  for  a  guiding  hand,  to  conduct  him  from  the  labyrinth 
of  doubt  and  fear  into  the  realms  of  oblivion  and  peace.  The 
Margrave's  senses  reeled  from  the  heavy  fumes  of  flowers  and 
incense,  which  filled  the  Basilica.  The  light  from  a  cresset- 
lantern  on  the  wall,  contending  singly  with  the  pale  mournful 
rays  of  the  moon,  which  cast  a  dim  light  through  the  long 
casement,  over  pillars  and  aisles,  fell  athwart  his  pallid  face. 
The  terrible  incidents  of  the  past  night,  which  had  thrown  him 
back  into  the  throes  of  the  world,  and  had  snuffed  out  the 
Pontiff's  life,  weighed  heavily  upon  him,  and  for  the  nonce, 
the  commander  abandoned  every  attempt  to  clear  the  terrible 
mystery  which  enshrouded  him.  He  almost  despaired  of  com 
bating  the  spectre  single-handed,  and  now  the  one  man,  who 
might  by  counsel  and  precept  have  guided  his  steps,  had  been 
struck  down  by  the  assassin's  hand. 

The  sanctity  of  the  place,  the  solemnity  of  the  hour,  and  the 
deep  silence  around  were  well  calculated  to  deepen  the  melan 
choly  mood  of  the  solitary  watcher.  Weird  were  the  fancies 
that  swept  over  his  mind,  memories  of  a  long  forgotten  past, 
and  dim,  indistinct  plans  for  the  future,  till  at  length,  wearied 
with  his  own  reflections  over  that  saddest  of  all  earthly  enigmas, 
what  might  have  been,  he  seated  himself  on  a  low  bench  beside 
the  bier.  The  moonbeams  grew  fainter  and  more  faint,  as  the 
time  wore  on,  and  the  sharp  distinction  between  light  and 
shadow  faded  fast  from  the  marble  floor. 

187 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

Thicker  and  thicker  drooped  the  shadows  round  the  bier 
of  the  dead  Pontiff.  The  silence  semed  to  deepen.  The  moon 
was  gone.  Save  for  the  struggling  rays  of  the  cresset-lantern 
above  him,  the  blackness  of  night  closed  round  the  solemn 
and  ghostly  scene. 

The  scent  of  flowers  and  the  fumes  of  incense  weighed 
heavily  on  Eckhardt's  senses.  Vainly  did  he  combat  the 
drowsiness;  the  silence,  the  dim  light  and  the  heavy  fumes  at 
last  laid  their  benumbing  spell  upon  him  and  lulled  him  to 
sleep.  His  head  fell  back  and  his  eyes  closed. 

But  his  sleep  was  far  from  calm.  Weird  dreams  beset  him. 
Again  he  lived  over  the  terrible  ordeal  of  the  preceding  night. 
Again  he  saw  himself  surrounded,  hemmed  in  by  a  vast  con 
course.  Again  he  saw  the  phantom  at  the  shrine,  the  phantom 
with  Ginevra's  face,  —  Ginevra's  eyes;  again  he  heard  her 
strange  luring  words.  The  wine  spilled  from  the  sacred 
chalice  looked  like  blood  on  the  marble  stairs  of  the  altar.  He 
heard  his  own  voice,  strange,  unearthly ;  gripped  by  a  choking 
sensation  he  rushed  from  the  crowded  Basilica,  the  air  of  which 
seemed  to  stifle  him,  —  rushed  hi  pursuit  of  the  phantom 
with  Ginevra's  face,  —  Ginevra's  eyes.  At  the  threshold  of  the 
church  a  hand  seized  his  own,  —  a  woman's  hand.  How  long, 
since  he  had  felt  a  woman's  hand  in  his  own !  It  was  cold  as 
the  skin  of  a  serpent,  yet  it  burnt  like  fire.  And  the  hand  drew 
him  onward,  ever  onward.  There  was  no  resisting  the  gaze 
of  those  eyes  which  burnt  into  his  own. 

A  deep  azure  overspread  the  sky.  The  trees  were  clothed  in 
the  raiment  of  spring.  Blindly  he  staggered  onward.  Blindly 
he  followed  his  strange  guide  through  groves,  fragrant  with 
the  perfumes  of  flowers,  —  the  air  seemed  as  a  bower  of  love. 
The  hand  drew  him  onward  with  its  chill,  yet  burning  touch. 
The  way  seemed  endless.  Faster  and  faster  grew  their  speed. 
At  last  they  seemed  to  devour  the  way.  The  earth  flitted 
beneath  them  as  a  gray  shadow.  The  black  trees  fled  in  the 

188 


darkness  like  an  army  in  rout.  They  delved  into  glens,  gloomy 
and  chill.  The  night-birds  clamoured  in  the  forest  deeps; 
will-o'-the-wisps  gleamed  over  stagnant  pools  and  now  and 
then  the  burning  eyes  of  spectres  pierced  the  gloom,  who 
lined  a  dark  avenue  in  their  nebulous  shrouds. 

And  the  hand  drew  him  onward  —  ever  onward !  Neither 
spoke.  Neither  questioned.  At  last  he  found  himself  in  a 
churchyard.  The  scent  of  faded  roses  hovered  on  the  air  like 
the  memory  of  a  long-forgotten  love.  They  passed  tomb 
stone  after  tombstone,  gray,  crumbling,  with  defaced  inscrip 
tions;  the  spectral  light  of  the  moon  in  its  last  quarter  dimly 
illumined  their  path  till  at  last  they  reached  a  stone  half  hidden 
behind  tall  weeds  and  covered  with  ivy,  moss  and  lichen.  The 
earth  had  been  thrown  up  from  the  grave,  which  yawned  to 
receive  its  inmate.  Owls  and  bats  flocked  and  flapped  about 
them  with  strange  cries ;  the  foxes  barked  their  answer  far  away 
and  a  thousand  evil  sounds  rose  from  the  stillness.  As  they 
paused  before  the  yawning  grave  he  gazed  up  into  his  com 
panion's  face.  Pale  as  marble  Ginevra  stood  by  his  side, 
the  long  white  shroud  flowing  unbroken  to  her  feet.  Through 
the  smile  of  her  parted  lips  gleamed  her  white  teeth,  as 
she  pointed  downward,  to  the  narrow  berth,  then  her  arms  en 
circled  his  neck  like  rings  of  steel;  her  eyes  seemed  to  pierce 
his  own,  he  felt  unable  to  breathe,  he  felt  his  strength  giving 
way,  together  they  were  sinking  into  the  night  of  the  grave  — 

A  shrill  cry  resounded  through  the  silence  of  the  Basilica. 
Awakened  by  the  terrible  oppression  of  his  dream,  —  roused 
by  the  sound  of  his  own  voice,  Eckhardt  opened  his  eyes  and 
gazed  about,  fearstruck  and  dismayed.  After  a  moment  or 
two  he  arose,  to  shake  off  the  spell,  which  had  laid  its  be 
numbing  touch  upon  him,  when  he  suddenly  recoiled,  then 
stood  rooted  to  the  spot  with  wild,  dilated  eyes.  At  the  foot  of 
the  Pontiff's  bier  stood  the  tall  form  of  a  woman.  The  fitful 
rays  of  the  cresset-lantern  above  him  illumined  her  white, 

189 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

flowing  garb.  A  white  transparent  veil  drooped  from  her  head 
to  her  feet;  but  the  diaphanous  texture  revealed  a  face  pale 
and  beautiful,  and  eyes  which  held  him  enthralled  with  their 
slumbrous,  mesmeric  spell.  Breathless  with  horror  Eckhardt 
gazed  upon  the  apparition ;  was  it  but  the  continuation  of  his 
dream  or  was  he  going  mad  ? 

As  the  phantom  slowly  began  to  recede  into  the  shadows, 
Eckhardt  with  a  supreme  effort  shook  off  the  lethargy  which 
benumbed  his  limbs.  He  dared  remain  no  longer  inert,  he 
must  penetrate  the  mystery,  whatever  the  cost,  whatever  the 
risk.  With  imploring,  outstretched  arms  he  staggered  after 
the  apparition,  —  if  apparition  indeed  it  was,  —  straining  his 
gaze  towards  her  slowly  receding  form  —  and  so  absorbed  was 
he  in  his  pursuit,  that  he  saw  not  the  shadow  which  glided 
into  the  mortuary  chapel.  Suddenly  some  dark  object  hurled 
itself  against  him;  quick  as  a  flash,  and  ere  he  could  draw  a 
second  breath,  a  dagger  gleamed  before  Eckhardt's  eyes;  he 
felt  the  contact  of  steel  with  his  iron  breast-plate,  he  heard 
the  weapon  snap  asunder  and  fall  at  his  feet,  but  when  he 
recovered  from  his  surprise,  the  would-be  assassin,  without 
risking  a  second  stroke,  had  fled  and  the  apparition  seemed  to 
have  melted  into  air.  Eckhardt  found  himself  alone  with  the 
dead  body  of  the  Pontiff. 

With  loud  voice  he  called  for  the  sentry,  stationed  without, 
and  when  that  worthy  at  last  made  his  appearance,  his  heavy, 
drooping  eyelids  and  his  drowsy  gait  did  not  argue  in  favour 
of  too  great  a  watchfulness.  Making  the  sentry  doff  his  heavy 
iron  shoes,  Eckhardt  bade  him  secure  a  torch,  then  he  made 
the  round  of  the  chapel,  preceded  by  his  stolid  companion. 
The  Margrave's  anxiety  found  slight  reflex  in  the  coarse  features 
of  his  subordinate,  who  understood  just  enough  of  what  was 
wanted  of  him  to  comprehend  the  disappointment  in  his 
master's  countenance.  As  every  door  was  locked  and  bolted, 
the  only  supposition  remaining  was  that  the  bravo  had  dis- 

190 


THE    DEATH    WATCH 

covered  some  outlet  from  within.  But  Eckhardt's  tests  proved 
unavailing.  The  floor  and  the  walls  seemed  of  solid  masonry 
which  to  penetrate  seemed  impossible.  The  broken  blade 
offered  no  clue  either  to  the  author  or  perpetrator  of  this  deed  of 
darkness,  and  after  commanding  the  sentry  to  keep  his  watch 
for  the  remainder  of  the  night,  inside,  Eckhardt  endeavoured 
once  more  to  compose  himself  to  rest,  while  the  man-at-arms 
stretched  his  huge  limbs  before  the  pontifical  bier. 

The  bells  of  St.  Peter's  chimed  shrill  and  loud  as  a  mighty 
multitude,  greater  even  than  that  of  the  preceding  night, 
swept  within  its  portals  toward  the  chapel  of  Boniface  VIII. 
There,  rilling  every  inch  of  space,  only  the  more  fortunate  of 
the  crowd  gained  a  glimpse  of  the  coffin,  which  had  been  closed, 
for  the  corpse  was  decaying  fast,  the  effect  of  the  terrible  and 
mysterious  poison  which  had  been  mixed  in  the  holy  wine. 
At  length,  as  the  solemn  chant  of  the  choristers  began  to  swell 
through  the  edifice,  preluding  the  celebration  of  the  Death 
Mass  for  the  departed  Pontiff,  a  silence  as  of  the  tomb  pervaded 
the  vast  edifice. 

Thus  the  day  wore  on,  —  thus  the  day  departed. 

The  solemn  chant  had  died  away.  The  sun  of  another  day 
had  set. 

The  funeral  cortege  set  in  motion.  Fifty  torches  surrounded 
the  bier  and  so  numerous  were  the  lamps  in  the  windows  of  the 
streets  through  which  the  funeral  procession  passed,  so  abun 
dant  the  showers  of  roses  which  poured  upon  the  bier,  that  the 
people  declared  it  surpassed  the  procession  Corpus  Domini. 

Interchanging  solemn  hymns,  the  cortege  arrived  at  last 
before  the  church  of  San  Pietro  in  Montorio,  where  the  body 
was  to  be  placed  in  the  niche  provisionally  appointed,  where 
it  was  to  remain  till  the  death  of  the  succeeding  pope  should 
consign  it  to  its  final  place  of  rest. 

The  ceremony  ended,  the  people  dispersed.  Few  loiterers 
remained  on  the  pavement  of  the  church.  The  sacristan 

191 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

announced  that  it  was  about  to  be  closed,  and  waiting  until, 
as  he  thought,  all  had  departed,  he  turned  the  ponderous 
doors  on  their  hinges  and  shut  them  with  a  crash.  The  report, 
reverberating  from  arch  to  arch,  shook  the  ancient  sepulchre 
through  its  every  angle.  The  lamps,  which  at  wide  intervals 
burned  feebly  before  the  shrines  of  the  saints,  lent  additional 
solemnity  and  awe  to  the  obscurity  of  the  place.  One  torch 
was  left  to  light  a  narrow  circle  round  the  entrance  to  the 
crypt. 

Silence  had  succeeded  when  out  of  the  shadow  of  the  tomb 
there  passed  two  figures,  who  upon  entering  the  narrow 
circle  of  light  emanating  from  the  dim,  flickering  taper,  faced 
each  other  in  mute  amazement  and  surprise. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  spoke  the  one,  hi  the  garb 
of  a  monk,  as  they  stood  revealed  to  each  other  hi  the  half 
gloom. 

With  a  gesture  of  horror  and  dismay  the  other,  a  woman, 
wrapt  hi  a  dark  mantle,  which  covered  her  tall  and  stately  form 
from  head  to  foot,  turned  away  from  him. 

"  I  give  you  back  the  question,"  she  replied,  dread  and  fear 
in  her  tones. 

"  My  presence  here  concerns  the  dead,"  said  the  monk. 

"  They  say,  the  hand  of  the  dead  Pontiff  has  touched  his 
murderer." 

The  monk  paled.  For  a  moment  he  almost  lost  his  self- 
control. 

"  He  had  to  die  some  way,"  he  replied  with  a  shrug. 

"Monster!"  she  exclaimed,  recoiling  from  him,  as  if  she 
had  seen  a  snake  hi  her  path. 

"  He  travelled  hi  godly  company,"  said  the  monk  Cyprianus 
with  a  dark  laugh.  "  An  entire  Conclave  will  welcome  him 
at  the  gates  of  Paradise.  Why  are  you  here  ?  "  the  monk 
concluded,  a  shade  of  suspicion  lingering  in  his  tones. 

"  Am  I  accountable  to  you  ?  "  flashed  Theodora. 

192 


THE    DEATH    WATCH 

"  Being  what  you  are  through  my  intercession,  —  per 
haps,"  replied  the  monk. 

She  measured  him  with  a  look  of  unutterable  contempt. 

"  Because  the  prying  eyes  of  a  perjured  wretch,  who  screened 
his  vileness  behind  the  cassock  of  the  monk,  dared  to  offend 
the  majesty  of  Death  and  to  disturb  the  repose  of  the  departed, 
you  come  to  me  like  some  importunate  slave  dissatisfied  with 
his  hire  ?  You  dare  to  constitute  yourself  my  guardian,  to 
call  Theodora  a  thing  of  your  creation  ?  Take  care !  You 
speak  to  a  descendant  of  Marozia.  I  have  had  enough  of 
whimpering  monks.  For  the  service  demanded  of  you  hi  a 
certain  hour  you  have  been  paid.  So  clear  the  way,  and 
trouble  me  no  more !  " 

The  monk  did  not  stir. 

"  The  fair  Theodora  has  not  inherited  Ginevra's  memory," 
he  said  with  a  sneer.  "  The  gold  was  to  purchase  the 
repose  of  Ginevra's  soul." 

Theodora  shuddered,  as  if  oppressed  with  the  memories  of 
the  past. 

"  Candles  and  masses,"  she  said,  as  one  soliloquizing.  "  How 
signally  they  failed !  " 

The  monk  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  If  a  thousand  Aves,  and  tapers  six  foot  long  fail  in  their 
purpose,  —  what  undiscovered  penance  could  perform  the 
miracle  ?  " 

There  was  something  in  the  gleam  of  the  monk's  eye  which 
brought  Theodora  to  herself. 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  "  she  questioned  curtly. 

"  The  fulfilment  of  your  pledge." 

"  You  have  been  paid." 

The  monk  waved  his  hands. 

"  Tis  not  for  gold,  I  have  ventured  this  —  " 

And  he  pointed  to  the  crypts  below. 

She  recoiled  from  him,  regarding  him  with  a  fixed  stare, 

193 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  "  she  again  asked  with  a  look, 
in  which  hate  and  wonder  struggled  for  the  mastery. 

"  The  new  Conclave  will  be  made  up  of  your  creatures. 
Their  choice  must  fall  —  on  me!  " 

"  On  the  perjured  assassin  ?  "  shrieked  the  woman.  "  Out 
of  my  way!  I've  done  with  you!  " 

The  monk  stirred  not.  From  his  drawn  white  face  two  eyes 
like  glowing  coals  burnt  into  those  of  the  woman. 

"  Remember  your  pledge!  " 

"  Out  of  my  way,  assassin !  Dare  you  so  high  ?  The  chair 
of  St.  Peter  shall  never  be  defiled  by  such  a  one  —  as  you !  " 

"  And  thus  Theodora  rewards  the  service  rendered  to 
Ginevra,"  the  monk  said,  breathing  hard,  and  making  a 
step  towards  her.  She  watched  him  narrowly,  her  hand 
concealed  under  her  cloak. 

"  Dare  but  to  touch  the  hem  of  this  robe  with  your  blood 
stained  hands  —  " 

Cyprianus  retreated  before  the  menace  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  thought  I  had  lived  too  long  for  surprises,"  he  said 
calmly.     "  Yet,  considering  that  I  bear  here  hi  this  bosom  a 
secret,  which  one,  I  know,  would  give  an  empire  to  obtain,  — 
Cyprianus  can  be  found  tractable." 

With  a  last  glance  at  the  woman's  face,  stony  in  its  marble- 
cold  disdain,  the  monk  turned  and  left  the  church  through  the 
sacristy.  For  a  moment  Theodora  remained  as  one  spell 
bound,  then  she  drew  her  mantle  more  closely  about  her  and  left 
the  sepulchre  by  an  exit  situated  in  an  opposite  direction.  No 
sooner  had  her  footsteps  died  to  silence  when  two  shadowy 
forms  sped  noiselessly  through  the  incense-saturated  dusk  of 
S.  Pietro  in  Montorio,  pausing  on  the  threshold  of  the  door, 
through  which  the  monk  Cyprianus  had  gained  the  open. 

"  I  need  that  man !  "  whispered  the  taller  into  the  ear  of 
his  companion,  pointing  with  shadowy  finger  to  the  swiftly 
vanishing  form  of  the  monk. 

194 


THE    DEATH    WATCH 

The  other  nodded  with  a  horrid  grin,  which  glowed  upon  his 
visage  like  phosphorus  upon  a  skull. 

With  a  quick  nod  of  understanding,  the  Grand  Chamberlain 
and  John  of  the  Catacombs  quitted  the  steps  of  S.  Pietro  in 
Montorio. 

Darkness  fell. 

Night  enveloped  the  trembling  world  with  her  star  em 
broidered  robe  of  dark  azure. 


195 


CHAPTER  XVI 


THE   CONCLAVE 


VAST  concourse  surrounded  the 
portals  of  the  Vatican.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  entire  popula 
tion  of  Rome,  from  the  Porta 
del  Popolo  to  the  Coliseum, 
from  the  baths  of  Diocletian  to 
Castel  San  Angelo,  had  as 
sembled  by  appointment  hi  the 
Piazza  of  St.  Peter.  For  so 
dense  was  the  multitude,  that  its 
pressure  filled  the  adjacent  thoroughfares,  the  crowds  clinging 
round  columns,  winding  along  the  broken  outlines  of  the  walls, 
and  grouping  themselves  among  the  ruins  of  temples  and  fallen 
porticoes. 

The  eyes  of  all  were  fixed  upon  that  wing  of  the  pontifical 
palace  where  the  Conclave,  hurriedly  convoked,  was  assembled, 
and  as  Gregory  V  had  now  been  dead  sixteen  days,  the  cardinals 
were  proceeding  with  the  election  of  a  new  Pope.  Never  pos 
sibly,  from  the  hour  when  the  first  successor  of  St.  Peter  mounted 
the  throne  of  the  Apostle,  had  there  been  exhibited  so  much 
unrest  and  disquietude  as  there  was  hi  this  instance  to  be 
observed  among  the  masses.  The  rumour  that  Gregory  had 
died  of  poison  had  proved  true,  and  the  Romans  had  been  seized 
with  a  strange  fear,  urging  all  ranks  towards  the  Vatican  or 
Monte  Cavallo,  according  as  the  scarlet  assembly  held  its 
sittings  in  one  place  or  another.  During  the  temporary  in- 

196 


THE   CONCLAVE 

terregnum,  the  Cardinal  of  Sienna,  president  of  the  Apostolic 
Chamber,  had  assumed  the  pontifical  authority. 

For  three  days  the  eyes  of  the  Romans  had  been  fixed  upon 
a  chimney  in  the  Vatican,  whence  the  first  signal  should  issue, 
proclaiming  the  result  of  the  pending  election.  Yet  at  the  hour 
when  the  Ave  Maria  announced  the  close  of  day,  a  small  column 
of  smoke,  ascending  like  a  fleecy  cloud  of  vapour  to  the  sky, 
had  been  the  only  reward  for  their  anxiety,  and  with  cries 
mingled  with  shouts  of  menace,  discordant  murmurs  of 
raillery  and  laughter  the  crowds  had  each  day  dispersed.  For 
the  smoke  announced  that  the  the  Romans  were  still  without 
a  Pontiff,  that  the  ballot-list  had  been  burnt,  and  that  the 
Sacred  College  had  not  yet  chosen  a  successor  to  Gregory. 

The  day  had  been  spent  in  anxious  expectation.  Hour 
passed  after  hour,  without  a  sign  either  to  destroy  or  to  excite 
the  hope,  when  the  first  stroke  of  five  was  heard.  Slowly  the  bells 
tolled  the  hour,  every  note  falling  on  the  hearts  of  the  people, 
whose  anxious  gaze  was  fixed  on  the  chimney  of  the  Vatican. 
The  last  stroke  sounded;  its  vibrations  faintly  fading  on  the  silent 
air  of  dusk,  when  a  thunderous  clamour,  echoing  from  thousands 
of  throats,  shook  the  Piazza  of  St.  Peter,  succeeded  by  a  death 
like  silence  of  expectation  as  with  a  voice,  loud  and  penetrating, 
Cardinal  Colonna,  who  had  stepped  out  upon  the  balcony, 
announced  to  the  breathless  thousands: 

"  I  announce  to  you  tidings  of  great  joy :  Gerbert  of  Aurillac, 
Archbishop  of  Rheims,  Bishop  of  Ravenna  and  Vice-Chancellor 
of  the  Church,  has  been  elected  to  the  exalted  office  of  Pontiff 
and  has  ascended  the  chair  of  St.  Peter  under  the  name  of 
Sylvester  II." 

As  the  Cardinal  finished  his  announcement  a  monk  in  the 
grey  habit  of  the  Penitent  friars  was  seen  to  pale  and  to  totter, 
as  if  he  were  about  to  fall.  Declining  the  aid  of  those  endeavour 
ing  to  assist  him  he  staggered  through  the  crowds,  covering 
his  face  with  his  arms  and  was  soon  lost  to  sight. 

197 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

The  thunderous  applause  at  the  welcome  tidings  was  followed 
by  sighs  of  relief,  as  the  people  retired  to  their  houses  and 
hovels.  The  place,  where  a  few  minutes  before  a  nation  seemed 
collected,  was  again  deserted,  save  for  a  few  groups,  composed 
of  such  whom  curiosity  might  detain  or  others  who,  residing  hi 
the  immediate  neighbourhood,  were  less  eager  to  depart.  Even 
these  imperceptibly  diminished,  and  when  the  hour  of  eight  was 
repeated  from  cloisters  and  convents,  the  lights  in  the  houses 
gradually  disappeared,  save  hi  one  window  of  the  Vatican, 
whence  a  lamp  still  shed  its  fitful  light  through  the  nocturnal 
gloom. 


198 


Book  the  Second 

he  Sorceress 


199 


"  As  I  came  through  the  desert,  thus  it  was 
As  I  came  through  the  desert :    I  was  twain ; 
Two  selves  distinct,  that  cannot  join  again. 
One  stood  apart  and  knew  but  could  not  stir, 
And  watched  the  other  stark  in  swoon  arid  her; 
And  she  came  on  and  never  turned  aside, 
Between  such  sun  and  moon  and  roaring  tide: 
And  as  she  came  more  near, 
My  soul  grew  mad  with  fear." 

— James  Thomson. 


200 


CHAPTER  I 


THE   MEETING 

OT  many  days  after,  in  the  still 
noontide  of  mellow  autumn,  a 
small  band  of  horsemen  drew 
towards  Rome .  They  rode  along 
the  Via  Appia,  between  the 
ancient  tombs;  all  about  them, 
undulant  to  the  far  horizon, 
stretched  a  brown  wilderness 
dotted  with  ruins.  Ruins  of 
villas,  of  farms,  of  temples, 
with  here  and  there  a  church  or  a  monastery,  that  told  of  the 
newer  time.  Olives  in  scant  patches,  a  lost  vineyard,  a  speck 
of  tilled  soil,  proved  that  men  still  laboured  amid  this  vast  and 
awful  silence,  but  rarely  did  a  human  figure  meet  the  eye. 
Marshy  ground  and  stagnant  pools  lay  on  either  hand,  causing 
them  to  glance  sadly  at  those  great  aqueducts,  which  had  in 
bygone  ages  carried  water  from  the  hills  into  Rome. 

They  rode  in  silence,  tired  with  their  journey,  occupied  with 
heavy  or  anxious  thoughts.  Otto,  King  of  the  Germans, 
impatient  to  arrive,  was  generally  a  little  ahead  of  the  rest  of 
the  company.  The  pallor  of  his  smooth  and  classic  face  was 
enhanced  by  the  coarse  military  cloak,  dark  and  travel-stained, 
which  covered  his  imperial  vestments.  A  lingering  expression 
of  sadness  was  revealed  in  his  eyes,  and  his  lips  were  tightly 
compressed  hi  wordless  grief,  for  the  tidings  of  the  untimely 
death  of  the  Pontiff,  the  friend  of  his  youth  and  his  boyhood 
days,  had  reached  him  just  after  his  departure  from  the  shrines 

201 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

of  St.  Michael  in  Apulia.  Dark  hints  had  been  contained  in  the 
message,  which  Sylvester  II,  Gregory's  chosen  successor  and 
Otto's  former  teacher,  had  despatched  to  the  ruler  of  the  Roman 
world,  urging  his  immediate  return,  —  for  the  temper  of  the 
Romans  brooked  no  trifling,  their  leaders  being  ever  on  the 
alert  for  mischief. 

Earthworks  and  buildings  of  military  purpose  presently 
appeared,  recalling  the  late  blockade;  churches  and  oratories 
told  them  they  were  passing  the  sacred  ground  of  the  Cata 
combs,  then  they  trotted  along  a  hollow  way  and  saw  before 
them  the  Appian  gate.  Only  two  soldiers  were  on  guard; 
these,  not  recognizing  the  German  king,  took  a  careless  view 
of  the  travellers,  then  let  them  pass  without  speaking. 

At  the  base  of  the  Aventine  the  cavalcade  somewhat  slack 
ened  its  pace.  Slowly  they  ascended  the  winding  road,  until 
they  reached  the  old  wall  of  Servius  Tullius.  Here  Otto  reined 
in  his  charger,  pausing,  for  a  moment,  to  observe  the  view. 
To  the  west  and  south-west  stretched  the  brown  expanse  of  the 
Campagna,  merging  into  the  distant  gray  of  the  Roman 
Maremma,  while  beyond  that  point  a  clear  blue  line  marked 
the  Ionian  Sea.  Beneath  them  the  Tiber  wound  its  coils 
round  St.  Bartholomew's  Island,  the  yellow  water  of  the  river, 
stirred  into  faint  ripples  by  the  breeze,  looking  from  the  distance 
like  hammered  brass.  Beyond  the  Tiber  rose  the  Janiculan 
Mount,  behind  which  the  top  of  the  Vatican  hill  was  just 
visible.  To  southward  the  view  was  bounded  by  the  Church  of 
Santa  Prisca  above  them  and  far  off  rose  the  snow-capped 
cone  of  Soracte.  Northeast  and  east  lay  the  Palatine  and 
Esquiline  with  the  Campaniles  of  Santa  Maria  Maggiore  and 
San  Pietro  in  Vincoli.  Over  the  Caelian  Mount  they  could  see 
the  heights  of  the  Sabine  hills,  and  running  their  eyes  along  the 
Appian  way,  they  could  almost  descry  the  Alban  lake.  At  a 
sign  from  their  sovereign  the  cavalcade  slowly  set  in  motion. 
Passing  the  monastery  of  St.  Jerome  and  its  dependencies,  the 

202 


THE    MEETING 

three  churches  of  the  Aventine,  Santa  Sabina,  Santa  Maria 
Aventina  and  St.  Alexius,  the  imperial  cavalcade  at  last  drew 
rein  before  the  gates  of  Otto's  Golden  Palace  on  the  Aventine. 

Again  in  his  beloved  Rome,  Otto's  first  visit  was  to  Bruno's 
grave.  He  had  dismissed  his  attendants,  wishing  to  be  alone 
in  his  hour  of  grief.  Long  he  knelt  in  tears  and  silent  prayers 
before  the  spot,  which  seemed  to  contain  half  his  young  life, 
then  he  directed  his  steps  towards  the  Basilica  of  St.  Peter, 
there  to  conclude  his  devotions. 

It  was  now  the  hour  of  Vespers. 

The  area  of  St.  Peters  was  filled  with  a  vast  and  silent  crowd, 
flowing  in  and  out  of  the  Confessor's  station,  which  was  in  the 
subterranean  chapel,  that  contains  the  Apostle's  tomb,  the 
very  load-stone  of  devotion  throughout  the  Christian  word. 

After  having  finished  his  devotions,  Otto  was  seized  with  the 
desire  to  seek  the  confessor,  in  order  to  obtain  relief  from  the 
strange  oppression  which  hovered  over  him  like  a  presenti 
ment  of  evil.  Taking  his  station  in  line  with  a  number  of 
penitents,  in  the  dusky  passage  leading  to  the  confessional,  the 
scene  within  was  now  and  then  revealed  to  his  gaze  for  the 
short  space  of  a  moment,  when  the  bronze  gates  opened  for 
the  entrance  or  exit  of  some  heavily  burdened  sinner.  The 
tomb  was  stripped  of  all  its  costly  ornaments,  and  lighted  only 
by  the  torches  of  some  monks,  whose  office  it  was  to  interpret 
the  Penitentiarius,  whenever  occasion  arose.  These  torches 
shed  a  mournful  glow  over  the  dusk,  suiting  the  place  of 
sepulchre  of  martyred  saints.  On  the  tomb  itself  stood  an  urn 
of  black  marble,  beneath  which  was  an  alabaster  tablet,  on 
which  was  engraved  the  prophecy  concerning  the  Millennium 
and  the  second  coming  of  Christ,  and  the  conditions  of  penance 
and  prayer,  which  were  to  enable  the  faithful  to  share  in  and 
obtain  its  benefits.  Only  now  and  then,  when  the  curtain 
waved  aside,  the  person  of  the  Grand  Penitentiarius  became 
visible,  his  hands  rigidly  clasped,  and  his  usually  pale  and  stern 

203 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

visage  overspread  with  even  a  darker  haze  of  its  habitual 
gloom. 

While  Otto  was  anxiously  waiting  his  turn  to  be  admitted 
to  the  presence  of  the  Confessor,  the  gates  of  the  confessional 
suddenly  swung  open  and  a  woman  glided  out.  She  was  closely 
veiled  and  in  his  mental  absorption  Otto  might  scarcely  have 
noticed  her  at  all,  but  for  the  singular  intensity  of  the  gaze, 
with  which  the  monk  followed  her  retreating  form. 

As  she  passed  the  German  King  hi  the  narrow  passage,  her 
veil  became  entangled  and  she  paused  to  adjust  it.  As  she  did 
so,  her  features  were  for  the  brief  space  of  a  moment  revealed 
to  Otto,  and  with  such  an  air  of  bewilderment  did  he  stare  at 
her,  that  she  almost  unconsciously  raised  her  eyes  to  his.  For 
a  moment  both  faced  each  other,  motionless,  eye  in  eye  — 
then  the  woman  quickened  her  steps  and  hastened  out.  After 
she  had  disappeared,  Otto  touched  his  forehead  like  one 
waking  from  a  trance.  Never,  even  in  this  city  of  beautiful 
women,  had  he  seen  the  like  of  her,  never  had  his  eyes  met 
such  perfection,  such  exquisite  beauty  and  loveliness.  She 
combined  the  stately  majesty  of  a  Juno  with  the  seductive 
charms  of  Aphrodite.  In  dark  ringlets  the  silken  hair  caressed 
the  oval  of  her  exquisite  face,  a  face  of  the  soft  tint  of  Parian 
marble,  and  the  dark  lustrous  eyes  gave  life  to  the  classic 
features  of  this  Goddess  of  Mediaeval  Rome.  Before  she 
vanished  from  sight,  the  woman,  seemingly  obeying  an  impulse 
not  her  own,  turned  her  head  in  the  direction  of  Otto.  This 
was  due  perhaps  to  the  strange  discrepancy  between  his  face 
and  his  attire,  or  to  the  presence  of  one  so  young  and  of  appear 
ance  so  distinguished  among  the  throngs  which  habitually 
crowded  the  confessional. 

How  long  he  stood  thus  entranced,  Otto  knew  not,  nor  did 
he  heed  the  curious  gaze  of  those  who  passed  him  on  entering 
and  leaving  the  confessional.  At  last  he  roused  himself,  and, 
oblivious  of  his  station  and  rank,  flew  down  the  dark, 

204 


THE    MEETING 

vaulted  passage  at  such  a  speed  as  almost  to  knock  down 
those  who  encountered  him  in  his  headlong  pursuit  of  the  fair 
confessionist.  It  was  more  than  a  matter  of  idle  curiosity  to  him 
to  discover,  if  possible,  her  station  and  name,  and  after  having 
attracted  to  himself  much  unwelcome  attention  by  his  rash 
and  precipitate  act,  he  gradually  fell  into  a  slower  pace.  He 
reached  the  end  of  the  dark  passage  hi  time  to  see  what  he 
believed  to  be  her  retreating  form  vanish  down  a  corridor 
and  disappear  in  one  of  the  numerous  side-chapels.  Con 
cluding  that  she  had  entered  to  perform  some  special  devotion, 
he  resolved  to  await  her  return. 

Considerable  time  elapsed.  At  last,  growing  impatient, 
Otto  entered  the  chapel.  He  found  it  draped  throughout  with 
black,  an  altar  hi  the  center,  dimly  illumined.  Some  monks 
were  chanting  a  Requiem,  and  before  the  altar  there  knelt  a 
veiled  woman,  apparently  under  the  spell  of  some  deep  emotion, 
for  Otto  heard  her  sob  when  she  attempted  to  articulate  the 
responses  to  the  solemn  and  pathetic  litany,  which  the  Catholic 
church  consecrates  to  her  dead. 

But  the  German  King's  observation  suffered  an  immediate 
check. 

A  verger  came  forward  on  those  soundless  shoes,  which  all 
vergers  seem  to  have,  and  little  guessing  the  person  or  quality 
of  the  intruder  informed  him  of  the  woman's  desire,  that  none 
should  be  admitted  during  the  celebration  of  the  mass.  Otto 
stared  his  informant  in  the  face,  as  if  he  were  at  a  loss  to  com 
prehend  his  meaning,  and  the  latter  repeated  his  request 
somewhat  more  slowly,  under  the  impression  that  the 
stranger's  seeming  lack  of  understanding  was  due  to  his  un- 
familiarity  with  the  speaker's  barbarous  jargon. 

Otto  slowly  retreated  and  deferring  his  intended  visit  to  the 
chapel  of  the  Confessor  to  an  hour  more  opportune,  left  the 
Basilica.  As  he  recalled  to  himself,  trace  after  trace,  line  upon 
line,  that  exquisite  face,  whose  creamy  pallor  was  enhanced 

205 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

by  the  dark  silken  wealth  of  her  hair,  and  from  whose  perfect 
oval  two  eyes  had  looked  into  his  own,  which  had  caused  his 
heart-beats  to  stop  and  his  brain  to  whirl,  he  could  hardly 
await  the  moment  when  he  should  learn  her  name,  and  per 
haps  be  favoured  with  the  assurance  that  her  visit  on  that 
evening  was  not  likely  to  have  been  her  last  to  the  Confessor's 
shrine. 

Imbued  with  this  hope,  he  slowly  traversed  the  streets  of 
Rome,  experiencing  a  restful,  even  animating  contentment  in 
breathing  once  more  the  atmosphere  of  the  thronging  city, 
of  being  once  more  in  a  great  center  of  humanity.  At  a  familiar 
corner  sat  an  old  man  with  an  iron  tripod,  over  which,  by  a 
slow  fire,  he  roasted  his  chestnuts,  a  sight  well  remembered, 
for  often  had  he  passed  him.  He  threw  him  some  corns  and 
continued  upon  his  way.  Beyond,  at  his  shop-door  stood  a 
baker,  deep  in  altercation  with  his  patrons.  From  an  alley 
came  a  wine-vender  with  his  heavy  terra-cotta  jars.  Before 
an  osteria  a  group  of  pifferari  piped  their  pastoral  strains.  A 
few  women  of  the  sturdy,  low-browed  Contadini-type  ha 
stened,  basket-laden,  homeward.  A  patrol  of  men-at-arms 
marched  down  the  Navona,  while  up  a  narrow  tortuous  lane 
flitted  a  company  of  white-robed  monks,  bearing  to  some 
death-bed  the  last  consolation  of  the  church. 

Otto  had  partaken  of  no  food  since  morning  and  nature 
began  to  assert  her  rights.  Finding  himself  at  the  doorway  of 
an  inn  for  wayfarers,  with  a  pretentious  coat-of-arms  over 
the  entrance,  he  entered  unceremoniously,  and  seated  himself 
apart  from  the  rather  questionable  company  which  patronized 
the  Inn  of  the  Mermaid.  Here  the  landlord,  a  burly  Calabrian, 
served  his  unknown  guest  with  a  most  questionable  beverage, 
faintly  suggestive  of  the  product  of  the  vintage,  and  viands  so 
strongly  seasoned  that  they  might  have  undertaken  a  pil 
grimage  on  their  own  account. 

For  these  commodities,  making  due  allowance  for  his  guest's 

206 


THE    MEETING 

abstracted  state  of  mind,  the  uncertainty  of  the  times  and  the 
crowded  state  of  the  city,  the  host  of  the  Mermaid  only  de 
manded  a  sum  equal  to  five  times  the  customary  charge,  which 
Otto  paid  without  remonstrance,  whereupon  the  worthy  host 
of  the  Mermaid  called  to  witness  all  the  saints  of  the  calendar, 
that  he  deserved  to  spend  the  remainder  of  his  life  in  a  pig-sty, 
for  having  been  so  moderate  in  his  reckoning. 

As  one  walking  in  a  dream,  Otto  returned  to  his  palace  on 
the  Aventine.  Had  he  wavered  in  the  morning,  had  the  dic 
tates  of  reason  still  ventured  to  assert  themselves  —  the  past 
hour  had  silenced  them  for  ever.  Before  his  gaze  floated  the 
image  of  her  who  had  passed  him  in  the  Basilica.  At  the 
thought  of  her  he  could  hear  the  beating  of  his  own  heart. 
Rome  —  the  dominion  of  the  earth  —  with  that  one  to  share 
it  —  delirium  of  ecstasy !  Would  it  ever  be  realized !  Then 
indeed  the  dream  of  an  earthly  paradise  would  be  no  mere 
fable! 


207 


CHAPTER  II 


THE   QUEEN   OF   NIGHT 


WEEK  had  passed  since  Otto's 
arrival  in  Rome.  Eckhardt, 
wrapped  in  his  own  dark  fancies, 
had  only  appeared  at  the  palace 
on  the  Aventine  when  com 
pelled  to  do  so  in  the  course  of 
his  newly  resumed  duties.  The 
terrible  presentiment  which  had 
haunted  him  night  and  day 
since  he  left  the  gray,  bleak 
winter  skies  of  his  native  land,  had  become  intensified  during 
the  past  days.  Day  and  night  he  brooded  over  the  terrible 
fascination  of  those  eyes  which  had  laid  their  spell  upon  him, 
over  the  amazing  resemblance  of  the  apparition  to  the  one 
long  dead  in  her  grave.  And  the  more  he  pondered  the  heavier 
grew  his  heart  within  him,  and  vainly  he  groped  for  a  ray  of 
light  upon  his  dark  and  lonely  path,  vainly  for  a  guiding  hand 
to  conduct  him  from  the  labyrinth  of  doubt  and  fear. 

It  had  been  a  warm  and  sultry  day.  Towards  evening 
dark  clouds  had  risen  over  the  Tyrrhene  Sea  and  spread  in  long 
heavy  banks  across  the  azure  of  the  sky.  Sudden  squalls  of 
rain  swept  down  at  short  intervals,  driving  the  people  into 
shelter.  All  the  life  of  the  streets  took  refuge  in  arcades  or 
within  dimly  lighted  churches.  Soon  the  slippery  marble 
pavements  were  deserted,  and  the  water  from  the  guttered 
roofs  dripped  dolefully  into  overflowing  cisterns.  A  strange 
atmosphere  of  discomfort  and  apprehension  lay  over  the  city. 

208 


THE    QUEEN    OF   NIGHT 

The  storm  increased  as  evening  fell.  From  the  seclusion  of 
the  gloomy  chamber  he  occupied  in  the  old  weather-beaten 
palace  of  the  Pierleoni,  Eckhardt  looked  out  into  the  growing 
darkness.  The  clouds  chased  each  other  wildly  and  the  driving 
rain  obliterated  every  outline. 

How  long  he  had  thus  stood,  he  did  not  know.  A  rattle 
of  hailstones  against  the  window,  a  gust  of  wind,  which 
suddenly  blew  into  his  face,  and  the  lurid  glare  of  lightning 
which  flashed  through  the  ever-deepening  cloud-bank,  roused 
Eckhardt  from  his  reverie  to  a  sense  of  reality.  The  lamp  on 
the  table  shed  a  fitful  glare  over  the  surrounding  objects. 
Now  the  deep  boom  of  thunder  reverberating  through  the  hills 
caused  him  to  start  from  his  listless  attitude.  Just  as  he 
turned,  the  lamp  gave  a  dismal  crackle  and  went  out,  leaving 
him  in  Stygian  gloom.  With  an  exclamation  less  reverent 
than  expressive,  Eckhardt  groped  his  way  through  the  dark 
ness,  vainly  endeavouring  to  find  a  flint-stone.  A  flash  of 
lightning  which  came  to  his  aid  not  only  revealed  to  him  the 
desired  object,  but  likewise  a  tall,  shadowy  form  standing  on 
the  threshold.  From  the  dense  obscurity  which  enshrouded 
him,  Eckhardt  could  not,  in  the  intermittent  flashes  of  light 
ning,  see  the  stranger's  features,  but  a  singular,  and  even  to 
himself  quite  inexplicable  perversity  of  humour,  kept  him 
silent  and  unwilling  to  declare  his  presence,  although  he  in 
stinctively  felt  that  the  strange  visitor,  whoever  he  was,  had 
seen  him.  Meanwhile  the  latter  advanced  a  pace  or  two, 
paused,  peered  through  the  gloom  and  spoke  with  a  voice 
strangely  blended  with  deference  and  irony: 

"  Is  Eckhardt  of  Meissen  present  ?  " 

Without  once  taking  his  eyes  from  the  individual,  whose 
dark  form  now  stood  clearly  revealed  in  the  lightning  flashes, 
which  followed  each  other  at  shorter  intervals,  the  same 
strange  obstinacy  stiffened  Eckhardt's  tongue,  and  concealed 
in  the  gloom,  he  still  held  his  peace.  But  the  stranger  drew 

209 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

nearer,  till  in  height  and  breadth  he  seemed  suddenly  to  over 
shadow  the  Margrave,  and  once  again  the  voice  spoke: 

"  Is  Eckhardt  of  Meissen  present  ?  " 

"  I  am  here !  "  the  latter  replied  curtly,  rising  out  of  the 
darkness,  and  striking  the  flint-stones,  he  succeeded,  after 
some  vain  efforts,  in  relighting  the  lamp.  As  he  did  so,  a  tre 
mendous  peal  of  thunder  shook  the  house  and  the  stranger 
precipitately  retreated  into  the  shadow  of  the  doorway. 

"  You  are  the  bearer  of  a  message  ?  "  Eckhardt  turned 
towards  him,  with  unsteady  voice.  The  stranger  made  no 
move  to  deliver  what  the  other  seemed  to  expect. 

"  Everything  hi  death  has  its  counterpart  in  life,"  he  replied 
with  a  calm,  passionless  voice  which,  by  its  very  absence  of 
inflection,  thrilled  Eckhardt  strangely.  "  If  you  have  the 
courage  —  follow  me !  " 

Without  a  word  the  Margrave  placed  upon  his  head  a  skull 
cap  of  linked  mail,  and  after  having  adjusted  his  armour, 
turned  to  the  mysterious  messenger. 

"  Who  bade  you  speak  those  words  ?  " 

"  One  you  have  seen  before." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  Your  memory  will  tell  you." 

"  Her  name  ?  " 

"  You  will  hear  it  from  her  own  lips." 

"  Where  will  you  lead  me  ?  " 

"  Follow  me  and  you  will  see." 

"  Why  do  you  conceal  your  face  ?  " 

"  To  hide  the  blush  for  the  thing  called  man." 

The  stranger's  enigmatic  reply  added  to  Eckhardt's  convic 
tion  that  this  night  of  all  was  destined  to  clear  the  mystery 
which  enshrouded  his  life. 

A  mighty  struggle,  such  as  he  had  never  before  known, 
seemed  to  rend  his  soul,  as  with  throbbing  heart  he  followed 
his  strange  guide  on  his  mysterious  errand.  Thus  they  sped 

210 


THE    QUEEN    OF   NIGHT 

through  the  storm-swept  city  without  meeting  one  single 
human  being.  At  the  top  of  the  Esquiline  they  came  to  a 
momentary  standstill,  for  the  storm  raged  with  a  force  that 
nothing  could  resist.  Leaning  for  a  moment  against  a  ruined 
portico,  Eckhardt  gazed  westward  over  the  night-wrapt  city. 
In  the  driving  rain  he  could  scarcely  distinguish  the  huge 
structures  of  the  Flavian  Amphitheatre  and  the  palaces  on  the 
Capitoline  hill.  The  Janiculan  Mount  stood  out  like  a  darker 
storm-cloud  against  the  lowering  sky,  and  the  air  was  filled 
with  a  dull  moan  and  murmur  like  the  breathing  of  a  sleeping 
giant.  On  the  southern  slope  of  the  hill  the  wind  attacked 
them  with  renewed  fury,  and  the  blasts  howled  up  the  Clivus 
Martis  and  the  Appian  Way.  The  region  seemed  completely 
deserted.  Only  a  solitary  travelling  chariot  rolled  now  and 
then,  clattering,  over  the  stones. 

The  road  gradually  turned  off  to  the  right.  The  dark  mass 
to  their  left  was  the  tomb  of  the  Scipios  and  there  hi  front, 
hardly  visible  in  the  darkness  of  night,  rose  the  arch  of  Drusus, 
through  which  their  way  led  them.  Eckhardt  took  care  to 
note  every  landmark  which  he  passed,  to  find  the  way,  should 
occasion  arise,  without  his  guide.  The  latter,  constantly  pre 
ceding  him,  took  no  note  of  the  Margrave's  scrutiny,  but  con 
tinued  unequivocally  upon  his  way,  leaving  it  to  Eckhardt  to 
follow  him,  or  not. 

A  blinding  flash  of  lightning  illumined  the  landscape  far 
away  to  the  aqueducts  and  the  Alban  hills,  followed  by  a  deafen 
ing  peal  of  thunder.  The  uproar  of  the  elements  for  a  time 
shook  Eckhardt's  resolution. 

Just  then  he  heard  the  clanging  of  a  gate. 

An  intoxicating  perfume  of  roses  and  oleander  wooed  his 
bewildered  senses  as  his  guide  conducted  him  through  a  laby 
rinthine  maze  of  winding  paths.  Only  an  occasional  gleam  of 
lightning  revealed  to  the  Margrave  that  they  traversed  a  garden 
of  considerable  extent.  Now  the  shadowy  outlines  of  a  vast 

211 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

structure,  illumined  in  some  parts,  appeared  beyond  the  dark 
cypress  avenue  down  which  they  strode  at  a  rapid  pace. 

Suddenly  Eckhardt  paused,  addressing  his  guide :  "  Where 
am  I,  and  why  am  I  here  ?  " 

The  stranger  turned,  regarding  him  intently.  Then  he 
replied : 

"  I  have  nothing  to  add  to  my  errand.  If  you  fear  to  follow 
me,  there  is  yet  time  to  retreat." 

Had  he  played  upon  a  point  less  sensitive,  Eckhardt  might 
have  turned  his  back  even  now  upon  the  groves,  whose  whisper 
ing  gloom  was  to  him  more  terrible  than  the  din  of  battle,  and 
whose  mysterious  perfumes  exercised  an  almost  bewildering 
effect  upon  his  overwrought  senses. 

A  moment's  deliberation  only  and  Eckhardt  replied: 

"Lead  on!     I  follow!  " 

He  was  now  resolved  to  penetrate  at  every  hazard  the 
mystery  which  mocked  his  life,  his  waking  hours  and  his 
dreams. 

On  they  walked. 

Here  and  there,  from  branch-shadowed  thickets  gleamed 
the  stone-face  of  a  sphinx  or  the  white  column  of  an  obelisk, 
illumined  by  the  lightnings  that  shot  through  the  limitless 
depth  of  the  midnight  sky.  The  storm  rustled  among  the 
arched  branches,  driving  the  dead  and  dying  leaves  in  a  mad 
whirl  through  the  wooded  labyrinth. 

At  last,  Eckhardt's  strange  guide  stopped  before  a  cypress 
hedge  of  great  height,  which  loomed  black  in  the  night,  and 
penetrating  through  an  opening  scarce  wide  enough  for  one 
man,  beckoned  to  Eckhardt  to  follow  him.  As  the  latter  did 
so  he  stared  in  breathless  bewilderment  upon  the  scene  which 
unfolded  itself  to  his  gaze. 

The  cypress  hedge  formed  the  entrance  to  a  grotto,  the 
interior  of  which  was  faintly  lighted  by  a  crystal  lamp  of 
tenderest  rose  lustre. 

212 


THE   QUEEN   OF   NIGHT 

For  a  moment  Eckhardt  paused  where  he  stood,  then  he 
touched  his  head  with  both  hands,  as  if  wondering  if  he  were 
dreaming  or  awake.  If  it  was  not  the  work  of  sorcery,  if  he 
was  not  the  victim  of  some  strange  hallucination,  if  it  was 
not  indeed  a  miracle  —  what  was  it  ?  He  gazed  round,  awe 
struck,  bewildered.  His  guide  had  disappeared. 

The  denizen  of  the  grotto,  a  woman  reclining  on  a  divan, 
like  a  goddess  receiving  the  homage  of  her  worshippers,  was 
the  image  of  the  one  who  had  gone  from  him  for  ever,  and  the 
longer  his  gaze  was  riveted  on  this  enchanting  counterfeit  of 
Ginevra,  the  more  his  blood  began  to  seethe  and  his  senses  to 
reel. 

Slowly  he  moved  toward  the  enchantress,  who  from  her 
half -reclining  position  fixed  her  eyes  in  a  long  and  questioning 
gaze  upon  the  new-comer,  a  gaze  which  thrilled  him  through 
and  through.  He  dared  not  look  into  those  eyes,  which  he  felt 
burning  into  his.  His  head  was  beginning  to  spin  and  his 
heart  to  beat  with  a  strange  sensation  of  wonderment  and  fear. 
Never  till  this  hour  had  he  seen  Ginevra's  equal  in  beauty, 
and  now  that  it  broke  on  his  vision,  it  was  with  the  face,  the 
form,  the  hair,  the  eyes,  the  hands,  of  the  woman  so  passionately 
loved.  Only  the  face  was  more  pale  —  even  with  the  pallor 
of  death,  and  there  was  something  in  the  depths  of  those  eyes 
which  he  had  never  seen  in  Ginevra's.  But  the  light,  the  per 
fume,  the  place  and  the  seductive  beauty  of  the  woman  before 
him,  garbed  as  she  was  in  a  filmy,  transparent  robe  of  silvery 
tissue,  which  clung  like  a  pale  mist  about  the  voluptuous 
curves  of  her  body,  flowing  round  her  like  the  glistening  waves 
of  a  cascade,  began  to  play  havoc  with  his  senses. 

"  Welcome,  stranger,  in  the  Groves  of  Enchantment,"  she 
spoke,  waving  her  beautiful  snowy  arms  toward  her  visitor. 
"  I  rejoice  to  see  that  your  courage  deserves  the  welcome." 

There  was  an  undercurrent  of  laughter  in  her  musical  tones, 
as  she  pointed  to  a  seat  by  her  side.  Unable  to  answer,  unable 

213 


THE  SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

to  resist,  Eckhardt  moved  a  few  paces  nearer.  His  brain  whirled. 
For  a  moment  Ginevra's  image  seemed  forgotten  in  the  con 
templation  of  the  rival  of  her  dead  beauty.  A  wild,  desperate 
longing  seized  him.  On  a  sudden  impulse  he  turned  away, 
in  a  dizzy  effort  to  escape  from  the  mesmeric  gleam  of 
those  sombre,  haunting  eyes,  which  pierced  the  very  depths  of 
his  soul.  Fascinated,  at  the  same  time  repelled,  his  very  soul 
yearned  for  her  whose  embrace  he  knew  was  destruction  and 
he  was  filled  with  a  strange  sudden  fear.  There  was  something 
terrible  in  the  steadfast  contemplation  which  the  woman 
bestowed  upon  him,  —  something  that  seemed  to  lie  outside 
the  pale  of  human  passions,  and  the  pallor  of  her  exquisite 
face  seemed  to  increase  in  proportion  as  the  devouring  fire  of 
her  eyes  burnt  more  intensely. 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  me  ?  "  she  laughed,  raising  her  arms 
and  holding  them  out  toward  him. 

Still  he  hesitated.  His  breast  heaved  madly  as  his  eyes  met 
those,  which  swam  in  a  soft  languor,  strangely  intoxicating. 
Her  lips  parted  in  a  faint  sigh. 

"  Eckhardt,"  she  said  tremulously,  "  Eckhardt." 

Then  she  paused  as  if  to  watch  the  effect  of  her  words  upon 
him. 

Mute,  oppressed  by  indistinct  hovering  memories,  Eckhardt 
fed  his  gaze  on  her  seductive  fairness,  but  a  terrible  pain  and 
anguish  gnawed  at  his  heart.  Not  only  the  face,  even  the  voice 
was  that  of  Ginevra. 

"  Everything  in  death  has  its  counterpart  in  life : "  — 

That  had  been  the  pass-word  to  her  presence. 

One  devouring  look  —  and  forgetting  all  fear  and  warning 
and  all  presence  of  mind  he  rushed  towards  that  flashing 
danger-signal  of  beauty,  that  seemed  to  burn  the  very  air 
encompassing  it,  that  living  image  of  his  dead  wife,  and  with 
wild  eyes,  outstretched  arms  and  breathless  utterance,  he 
cried:  "Ginevra!" 

214 


THE   QUEEN    OF    NIGHT 

She  whom  he  thus  called  turned  toward  him,  as  he  came 
with  the  air  of  a  madman  upon  her,  and  her  marvellous 
loveliness,  as  she  raised  her  dark  eyes  questioningly  to  his, 
checked  his  impetuous  haste,  held  him  tongue-tied,  bewildered 
and  unmanned. 

And  truly,  nothing  more  beautiful  in  the  shape  of  woman 
could  be  imagined  than  she.  Her  fairness  was  of  that  rare  and 
subtle  type  which  has  in  all  ages  overwhelmed  reason,  blinded 
judgment  and  played  havoc  with  the  passions  of  men. 

Well  did  she  know  her  own  surpassing  charm  and  thoroughly 
did  she  estimate  the  value  of  her  fatal  power  to  lure  and  to 
madden  and  to  torture  all  whom  she  chose  to  make  the  victim 
of  her  almost  resistless  attraction.  Her  hair,  black  as  night, 
was  arranged  loosely  under  a  jewelled  coif.  Her  eyes,  large 
and  brilliant,  shone  from  under  brows  delicately  arched.  Her 
satin  skin  was  of  the  creamy,  colourless,  Southern  type,  in 
startling  contrast  to  the  brilliant  scarlet  of  the  small  bewitching 
mouth. 

Beautiful  and  delicate  as  the  ensemble  was,  there  was  in 
that  enchanting  face  a  lingering  expression,  which  a  woman 
would  have  hated  and  a  man  would  have  feared. 

"  Ginevra!  "  Eckhardt  cried,  then  he  checked  himself,  for, 
her  large  eyes,  suddenly  cold  as  the  inner  silence  of  the  sea, 
surveyed  him  freezingly,  as  though  he  were  some  insolently 
obstrusive  stranger.  But  her  face  was  pale  as  that  of  a  corpse. 

"  Ginevra !  "  he  faltered  for  the  third  time,  his  senses  reeling 
and  he  no  longer  master  of  himself.    "  Surely  you  know  me  — 
Eckhardt,  —  him  whose  name  you    have  just  called !     Speak 
to  me,  Ginevra  —  speak !     By  all  the  love  I  have  borne  for 
you  —  speak,  Ginevra,  —  speak !  " 

A  shadow  flitted  through  the  background  and  paused  be 
hind  Theodora's  couch.  Neither  had  seen  it,  though  Theodora 
shuddered  as  if  she  had  felt  the  strange  presence  of  something 
uncalled,  unbidden. 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

A  strange  light  of  mockery,  or  of  annoyance,  gleamed  in  the 
woman's  eyes.  Her  crimson  lips  parted,  showing  two  rows  of 
even,  small  white  teeth,  then  a  gleam  of  amusement  shot 
athwart  her  face,  raising  the  delicately  pencilled  corners  of  the 
eye-brows,  as  she  broke  into  a  soft  peal  of  careless  mocking 
laughter. 

"  I  am  not  Ginevra,"  she  said.  "  Who  is  Ginevra  ?  I  am 
Theodora  —  the  Queen  of  Love." 

Again,  as  she  saw  his  puzzled  look,  she  gave  way  to  her 
silvery,  mocking  mirth,  while  her  eyes  flung  him  a  glittering 
challenge  to  approach.  Eckhardt  had  recovered  partial  con 
trol  over  his  feelings  and  met  her  taunting  gaze  steadfastly 
and  with  something  of  sadness.  His  face  had  grown  very 
pale  and  all  the  warmth  and  rapture  had  died  out  of  his  voice, 
when  he  spoke  again. 

"  I  am  Eckhardt,"  he  said  quietly,  with  the  calm  of  a  mad 
man  who  argues  for  a  fixed  idea,  —  "  and  you  are  Ginevra  — 
or  her  ghost  —  I  know  not  which.  Why  did  you  return  to  the 
world  from  your  cold  and  narrow  bed  in  the  earth  and  shun  the 
man  who  worships  you  as  one  worships  an  idol  ?  Is  it  for 
some  transgression  in  the  flesh  that  your  soul  cannot  find 
rest  ?  " 

An  ominous  shuffling  behind  her  caused  Theodora  to  start. 
She  turned  her  head  as  if  by  chance  and  when  again  she 
faced  Eckhardt,  she  was  as  pale  as  death.  Noting  her  momen 
tary  embarrassment,  Eckhardt  made  a  resolute  step  toward 
her,  catching  her  hands  in  his  own.  He  was  dazed. 

"  Is  this  your  welcome  back  in  the  world,  Ginevra  ?  "  he 
pleaded  with  a  passionate  whisper.  "  Have  you  no  thought 
what  this  long  misery  apart  from  you  has  meant  ?  Remember 
the  old  days,  —  the  old  love,  —  have  pity  —  speak  to  me  as 
of  old." 

His  voice  in  its  very  whisper  thrilled  with  the  strange  music 
that  love  alone  can  give.  His  eyes  burnt  and  his  lips  quivered. 

216 


THE    QUEEN   OF   NIGHT 

Suddenly  he  seemed  to  wake  to  a  realization  of  the  scene. 
He  had  been  mocked  by  a  fatal  resemblance  to  his  dead 
wife.  His  heart  was  heavy  with  the  certainty,  but  the  spell 
remained. 

Without  warning  he  threw  himself  on  his  knees,  holding 
her  unresisting  hands  in  his. 

"  Demon  or  Goddess,"  he  faltered,  and  his  voice,  even  to 
his  own  ears,  had  a  strange  sound.  "  What  would  you  have 
with  me  ?  Speak,  for  what  purpose  did  you  summon  me  ? 
Who  are  you  ?  What  do  you  want  with  me  ? 

Her  low  laugh  stirred  the  silence  into  a  faint  tuneful  echo. 

"  Foolish  dreamer,"  she  murmured  half  tenderly,  half 
mockingly.  "  Is  it  not  enough  for  you  to  know  that  you  have 
been  found  worthy  to  join  the  few  chosen  ones  to  whom 
this  earthly  paradise  is  not  a  book  with  seven  seals  ?  Like 
your  sad-eyed,  melancholy  countrymen,  you  would  analyze 
the  essence  of  love  and  try  to  dissolve  it  into  its  own  hetero 
geneous  particles.  If  you  were  given  the  choice  of  the  fairest 
woman  you  would  descend  into  the  mouldering  crypts  of  the 
past,  to  unearth  the  first  and  last  Helen  of  Troy.  Ah!  Is  it 
not  so  ?  You  Northmen  prefer  a  theoretical  attachment  to 
the  body  of  living,  breathing,  loving  woman  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  surprised,  perplexed,  and  paused  an  in 
stant  before  he  made  reply.  Was  she  mocking  him  ?  Did  she 
speak  truth  ? 

"  Surely  so  peerless  an  enchantress,  with  admirers  so 
numerous,  cannot  find  it  worth  her  while  to  add  a  new  wor 
shipper  to  the  idolatrous  throng  ?  "  he  answered. 

"  Ah !  Little  you  know,"  she  murmured  indolently,  with  a 
touch  of  cold  disdain  in  her  accents.  "  My  worshippers  are  my 
puppets,  my  slaves!  There  is  not  a  man  amongst  them,"  she 
added,  raising  her  voice,  "not  a  man!  They  kiss  the  hand 
that  spurns  their  touch!  As  for  you,"  she  added,  leaning 
forward,  so  that  the  dark  shower  of  her  hair  brushed  his 

217 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

cheek  and  her  drowsy  eyes  sank  into  his  own,  "  As  for  you  — 
you  are  from  the  North.  —  I  love  a  nature  of  strongly  repressed 
and  concentrated  passion,  of  a  proud  and  chilly  temper. 
Like  our  volcanoes  they  wear  crowns  of  ice,  but  fires  un 
quenchable  smother  in  their  depths.  And  —  might  not  at 
a  touch  from  the  destined  hand  the  flame  in  your  heart  leap 
forth  uncontrolled  ?  " 

Eckhardt  met  the  enchantress'  look  with  one  of  mingled 
dread  and  intoxication.  She  smiled,  and  raising  a  goblet  of 
wine  to  her  lips,  kissed  the  brim  and  gave  it  to  him  with  an 
indescribably  graceful  swaying  gesture  of  her  whole  form, 
which  resembled  a  tall  white  lily  bending  to  the  breeze.  He 
seized  the  cup  eagerly  and  drank  thirstily  from  it.  Again  her 
magic  voice,  more  melodious  than  the  sounds  of  -5£olian  harps 
thrilled  his  ears  and  set  his  pulses  to  beating  madly. 

"  But  you  have  not  yet  told  me,"  she  whispered,  while  her 
head  drooped  lower  and  lower,  till  her  dark  fragrant  tresses 
touched  his  brow,  "  you  have  not  yet  told  me  that  you  love 
me?" 

Was  it  the  purple  wine  that  was  so  heavy  on  his  senses  ? 
Heavier  was  the  drowsy  spell  of  the  enchantress'  eyes.  Eck 
hardt  started  up.  His  heart  ached  with  the  memory  of  Ginevra, 
and  a  dull  pang  shot  through  his  soul.  But  the  spell  that  was 
upon  him  was  too  heavy  to  be  broken  by  human  effort.  Noth 
ing  short  of  the  thunder  of  Heaven  could  save  him  now. 

Theodora's  words  chimed  in  his  ear,  while  her  hands  clasped 
his  own  with  their  soft,  electrifying  touch.  With  a  supreme 
effort  he  endeavoured  to  shake  off  the  spell,  into  whose  ravish 
ment  he  was  being  slowly  but  surely  drawn,  his  efforts  at 
resistance  growing  more  feeble  and  feeble  every  moment. 

Again  the  voice  of  the  Siren  sent  its  musical  cadence  through 
his  brain  in  the  fateful  question: 

"  Do  you  love  me  ?  " 

Eckhardt  attempted  to  draw  back,  but  could  not. 

218 


THE    QUEEN    OF    NIGHT 

Entwining  her  body  with  his  arms,  he  devoured  her  beauty 
with  his  eyes.  From  the  crowning  masses  of  her  dusky  hair, 
over  the  curve  of  her  white  shoulders  and  bosom,  down  to  the 
blue-veined  feet  in  the  glistening  sandals,  his  gaze  wandered 
hungrily,  searchingly,  passionately.  His  heart  beat  with  wild, 
mad  desire,  but,  though  his  lips  moved,  no  words  were  audible. 

She  too,  was  silent,  apparently  watching  the  effect  of  her 
spell  upon  him,  sure  of  the  ultimate  fateful  result.  In  reality 
she  listened  intently,  as  if  expecting  some  unwelcome  intrusion, 
and  once  her  dark  fear-struck  eyes  tried  to  penetrate  the  deep 
shadows  of  the  grotto.  She  had  hsard  something  stir,  — 
and  a  mad  fear  had  seized  her  heart. 

Eckhardt,  unconscious  of  the  woman's  misgivings,  gazed 
upon  her  as  one  dazed.  He  felt,  if  he  could  but  speak  the  one 
word,  he  would  be  saved  and  yet  —  something  warned 
him  that,  if  that  word  escaped  his  lips,  he  would  be  lost.  Half 
recumbent  on  her  couch,  Theodora  watched  her  victim  nar 
rowly.  A  smile  of  delicate  derision  parted  her  lips,  as  she 
said: 

"  What  ails  you  ?  Are  you  afraid  of  me  ?  Can  you  not  be 
happy,  Eckhardt,"  she  whispered  into  his  brain,  "  happy  as 
other  men,  —  and  loved  ?  " 

She  bent  toward  him  with  arms  outstretched.  Closely  she 
watched  his  every  gesture,  endeavouring,  in  her  great  fear,  to 
read  his  thoughts. 

"  I  cannot,"  he  replied  with  a  moan,  "  alas  —  I  cannot !  " 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  the  enchantress  whispered,  bending 
closer  toward  him.  She  must  make  him  her  own,  she  must 
win  the  terrible  wager;  from  out  of  the  gloom  she  felt  two 
eyes  burning  upon  her  with  devilish  glee.  She  preferred 
instant  death  to  a  life  by  the  side  of  him  she  hated  with  all 
the  strength  of  a  woman's  hate  for  the  man  who  has  lied  to 
her,  deceived  her,  and  ruined  her  life.  Noting  the  fateful  effect 
of  her  blandishments  upon  him,  she  threw  herself  with  a  sudden 

219 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

movement  against  Eckhardt's  breast,  entwining  him  so 
tightly  with  her  arms  that  she  seemed  to  draw  the  very  breath 
from  him.  Her  splendid  dark  eyes,  ablaze  with  passion, 
sank  into  his,  her  lips  curved  in  a  sweet,  deadly  smile.  Roused 
to  the  very  height  of  delirium,  Eckhardt  wound  his  arms 
round  Theodora's  body.  A  dizziness  had  seized  him.  For  a 
moment  Ginevra  —  past,  present  and  future  seemed  forgotten. 
Closer  and  closer  he  felt  himself  drawn  towards  the  fateful 
abyss  —  slowly  the  enchantress  was  drawing  him  onward,  — 
until  there  would  be  no  more  resistance,  —  all  flaming  delirium, 
and  eternal  damnation. 

With  one  white  arm  she  reached  for  the  goblet,  but  ere  her 
fingers  touched  it,  a  shadowy  hand,  that  seemed  to  come  from 
nowhere  and  belong  to  no  visible  body,  changed  the  position 
of  the  drinking  vessels.  Neither  noted  it.  Theodora  kissed  the 
brim  of  the  first  goblet  and  started  to  sip  from  its  contents 
when  a  sudden  pressure  on  her  shoulder  caused  her  to  look  up. 
Her  terror  at  what  she  saw  was  so  great  that  it  choked  her 
utterance.  Two  terrible  eyes  gazed  upon  her  from  a  white, 
passion-distorted  face,  which  silently  warned  her  not  to  drink. 
So  great  was  her  terror,  that  she  noticed  not  that  Eckhardt 
had  taken  the  goblet  from  her  outstretched  hand,  and  putting 
it  to  his  lips  on  the  very  place  where  the  sweetness  of  her 
mouth  still  lingered,  drained  it  to  the  dregs. 

Wild-eyed  with  terror  she  stared  at  the  man  before  her. 
A  strange  sensation  had  come  over  him.  His  brain  seemed  to 
be  on  fire.  His  resistance  was  vanquished.  He  could  not  have 
gone,  had  he  wished  to. 

The  night  was  still.  The  silence  was  rendered  even  more 
profound  by  the  rustling  of  the  storm  among  the  leaves. 

Suddenly  Eckhardt's  hand  went  to  his  head.  He  started 
to  rise  from  his  kneeling  position,  staggered  to  his  feet,  then  as 
if  struck  by  lightning  he  fell  heavily  against  the  mosaic  of  the 
floor. 

220 


THE   QUEEN   OF   NIGHT 

With  a  wild  shriek  of  terror,  Theodora  had  risen  to  her 
feet  —  then  she  sank  back  on  the  couch  staring  speechlessly 
at  what  was  passing  before  her.  The  gaunt  form  of  a  monk, 
clad  in  the  habit  of  the  hermits  of  Mount  Aventine,had  rushed 
into  the  grotto,  just  as  Eckhardt  fell  from  the  effect  of  the  drug. 
Lifting  him  up,  as  if  he  were  a  mere  toy,  the  monk  rushed  out 
into  the  open  and  disappeared  with  his  burden,  while  four 
eyes  followed  him  in  speechless  dread  and  dismay. 


221 


CHAPTER  III 


THE   ELIXIR   OF    LOVE 


T  was  late  on  the  following 
evening,  when  in  the  hermitage 
of  Nilus  of  Gae'ta,  Eckhardt 
woke  from  the  death-like  stupor 
which  had  bound  his  limbs  since 
the  terrible  scenes  of  the  previ 
ous  night.  Thanks  to  the  anti 
dotes  applied  by  the  friar  as  soon 
as  he  reached  the  open,  the 
deadly  effect  of  the  poison  had 
been  stemmed  ere  it  had  time  to  penetrate  Eckhardt's  system, 
but  even  despite  this  timely  precaution,  the  benumbing  effect 
of  the  drug  was  not  to  be  avoided,  and  during  the  time  when 
the  stupor  maintained  its  sway  Nilus  had  not  for  a  moment 
abandoned  the  side  of  his  patient.  A  burning  thirst  consumed 
him,  as  he  awoke.  Raising  himself  on  his  elbows  and  vainly 
endeavouring  to  reconcile  his  surroundings,  the  monk  who  was 
seated  at  the  foot  of  his  roughly  improvised  bed  rose  and 
brought  him  some  water.  It  was  Nilus  himself,  and  only  after 
convincing  himself  that  the  state  of  the  Margrave's  condition 
was  such  as  to  warrant  his  immediately  satisfying  the  flood  of 
inquiries  addressed  to  him,  did  the  hermit  go  over  the  events 
of  the  preceding  night,  starting  from  the  point  where  Eckhardt 
had  lost  consciousness  and  his  own  intervention  had  saved 
him. 

Eckhardt's  hand  went  to  his  head  which  still  felt  heavy  and 
ached.    His  brain  reeled  at  the  account  which  Nilus  gave  him, 

222 


THE   ELIXIR   OF   LOVE 

and  there  was  a  choking  dryness  in  his  throat  when  the  friar 
accused  Theodora  of  the  deed. 

"  For  such  as  she  the  world  was  made.  For  such  as  she 
fools  and  slaves  abase  themselves,"  the  monk  concluded  his 
account.  "  Pray  that  your  eyes  may  never  again  behold  her 
accursed  face." 

Eckhardt  made  no  reply.  What  could  he  say  in  extenuation 
of  his  presence  in  the  groves  ?  And  by  degrees,  as  conscious 
ness  and  memory  returned,  as  he  strained  his  reasoning 
faculties  in  the  endeavour  to  find  some  cause  for  the  woman's 
attempt  to  poison  him,  after  having  mocked  him  with  her  fatal 
likeness  to  Ginevra  —  his  most  acute  logic  could  not  reconcile 
her  actions.  For  a  moment  he  tried  to  persuade  himself  that 
he  was  in  a  dream,  and  he  strove  hi  vain  to  wake  from  it. 
It  was  amazing  in  what  brief  time  and  with  what  vividness  all 
that  could  render  death  terrible,  and  this  death  of  all  most 
terrible,  rushed  upon  his  imagination.  Despite  the  languor  and 
inertness  which  still  continued,  one  terrible  certainty  rose 
before  him.  Far  from  having  solved  the  mystery,  it  had  in 
tensified  itself  to  a  degree  that  seemed  to  make  any  further 
attempt  at  solution  hopeless.  During  the  twilight  conscious 
ness  of  his  senses  numerous  faces  swam  around  him,  —  but 
of  all  these  only  one  had  remained  with  him,  Ginevra's  pale 
and  beautiful  countenance,  her  sweet  but  terrible  eyes.  But 
the  ever-recurring  thought  was  madness.  —  Ginevra  was 
dead. 

But  the  hours  spent  in  the  seclusion  of  the  friar's  hermitage 
were  not  entirely  lost  to  Eckhardt.  They  ripened  a  pre 
conceived  and  most  fantastic  plan  in  his  mind,  which  he 
no  sooner  remembered,  than  he  began  to  think  seriously  of 
its  execution. 

A  second  night  spent  in  Nilus's  hermitage  had  sufficiently 
restored  Eckhardt's  vitality  to  enable  him  to  leave  it  on  the 
following  morning.  After  having  taken  leave  of  the  monk, 

223 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

confessing  himself  his  debtor  for  life,  the  Margrave  chose  the 
road  toward  the  Imperial  palace,  as  his  absence  was  likely  to 
give  rise  to  strange  rumours,  which  might  retard  or  prevent  the 
task  he  had  resolved  to  accomplish.  He  was  hi  a  state  border 
ing  on  nervous  collapse,  when  he  reached  the  gates  of  the 
palace,  where  the  Count  Palatine,  hi  attendance,  ushered 
him  into  an  ante-room  pending  his  admission  to  Otto's 
presence.  Eckhardt's  thoughts  were  gloomy  and  his  coun 
tenance  forbidding  as  he  entered,  and  he  did  not  notice  the 
presence  of  Benilo,  the  Chamberlain.  When  the  latter  glanced 
up  from  his  occupation,  his  countenance  turned  to  ashen  hues 
and  he  stared  at  the  leader  of  the  imperial  hosts  as  one  would  at 
an  apparition  from  the  beyond.  The  hands,  which  held  a 
parchment,  strangely  illuminated,  shook  so  violently  that  he 
was  compelled  to  place  the  scroll  on  the  table  before  him. 
Eckhardt  had  been  so  wrapt  in  his  own  dark  ruminations  that 
he  saw  and  heard  nothing,  thus  giving  Benilo  an  opportunity 
to  collect  himself,  though  the  stereotyped  smile  on  the  Cham 
berlain's  lips  gave  the  lie  to  his  pretense  of  continuing  interested 
in  the  contents  of  the  chart  which  lay  on  the  table  before 
him. 

But  Benilo's  restlessness,  his  eagerness  to  acquaint  himself 
with  the  purpose  of  Eckhardt's  visit,  did  not  permit  him  to 
continue  the  task  in  which  the  general's  entrance  had  found  him 
engaged.  The  Chamberlain  seemed  undaunted  by  Eckhardt's 
apparent  preoccupation  of  mind. 

"  We  have  just  achieved  a  signal  victory,"  he  addressed  the 
Margrave  after  a  warm  greeting,  which  was  to  veil  his  mis 
givings,  while  his  unsteady  gaze  roamed  from  the  parchment 
on  the  table  to  Eckhardt's  clouded  brow.  "  The  Byzantine 
ceremonial  will  be  henceforth  observed  at  the  Imperial 
court." 

"  What  shall  it  all  lead  to  ?  "  replied  Eckhardt  wearily. 

"  To  the  fulfilment  of  the  emperor's  dream,"  Benilo  replied 

224 


THE    ELIXIR    OF   LOVE 

with  his  blandest  smile,  "  his  dream  of  the  ten-fold  crown  of 
Constantino  Porphyrogenitus." 

"  I  thought  the  Saxon  crown  weighed  heavily  enough." 

"  That  is  because  your  crown  is  material,"  Benilo  deigned 
to  expound,  "  not  the  symbolic  crown  of  the  East,  which  em 
bodies  all  the  virtues  of  the  gold  and  iron.  It  was  a  stupendous 
task  which  confronted  us  —  but  together  we  have  solved  the 
problem.  In  the  Graphia,  after  much  vain  research  and 
study,  and  in  the  '  Origines  '  of  Isidor,  we  found  that  which 
shall  henceforth  constitute  the  emblem  of  the  Holy  Roman 
Empire;  not  the  Iron  Crown  of  Lombardy,  nor  the  Silver 
Crown  of  Aix-la-Chapelle,  nor  the  Golden  Crown  of  Rome  — 
but  all  three  combined  with  the  seven  of  the  East." 

"  Ten  crowns  ?  "  exclaimed  Eckhardt  aghast.  "  On  the 
emperor's  frail  brow  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  spoke  Benilo,  with  the  same  studied  smile  upon  his 
lips,  while  he  relinquished  not  for  a  moment  the  basilisk  gaze 
with  which  he  followed  every  movement  of  the  Margrave. 
"Nay!  They  oppress  not  the  brow  of  the  anointed.  The 
Seven  Crowns  of  the  East  are :  The  crown  of  Ivy,  the  crown  of 
the  Olive,  the  crown  of  Poplar  Branches  and  Oak,  the  crown  of 
Laurels,  the  Mitra  of  Janus,  the  crown  of  the  Feathers  of  the 
Pea-fowl,  and  last  of  all  the  crown  set  with  diamonds,  which 
Diocletian  borrowed  from  the  King  of  the  Persians  and 
whereon  appeared  the  inscription :  '  Roma  Caput  Mundi  Regit 
Orbis  Frena  Rotundi.'  " 

Eckhardt  listened  half  dazed  to  this  exhibition  of  antiquarian 
learning  on  the  part  of  the  Chamberlain.  What  were  these 
trifles  to  avail  the  King  hi  establishing  order  in  the  dis 
cordant  chaos  of  the  Roman  world  ? 

But  Benilo  was  either  in  excellent  spirits  over  the  result  of 
his  antiquarian  researches  which  had  made  him  well  nigh 
indispensable  to  Otto,  and  into  which  he  condescended  to 
initiate  so  unlettered  an  individual  as  Eckhardt;  or  he  tor- 

225 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

mented  the  latter  with  details  which  he  knew  wearied  the  great 
leader,  to  keep  his  mind  from  dwelling  on  dangerous  matters. 
Thus  continuing  his  information  on  these  lines  with  a  suave 
air  of  superiority,  he  cited  the  treatise  of  Pigonius  concerning 
the  various  modes  of  triumph  and  other  antiquated  splendours 
as  enumerated  in  the  Codex,  until  Eckhardt's  head  swam  with 
meaningless  titles  and  newly  created  offices.  Even  an  admiral 
had  been  appointed :  Gregory  of  Tusculum.  In  truth,  he  had 
no  fleet  to  command,  because  there  existed  no  fleet,  but  the 
want  had  been  anticipated.  Then  there  were  many  important 
offices  to  be  filled,  with  names  long  as  the  ancient  triumphal 
course;  and  would  not  the  Romans  feel  flattered  by  these 
changes  ?  Would  they  not  willingly  console  themselves  with 
the  loss  of  their  municipal  liberties,  knowing  that  Hungary, 
and  Poland,  Spain  and  Germany  were  to  be  Roman  provinces 
as  of  old  ? 

Eckhardt  saw  through  it  all. 

Knowing  Otto's  fantastic  turn  of  mind,  Benilo  was  guiding 
him  slowly  but  surely  away  from  life,  into  the  wilderness  of 
a  decayed  civilization,  whose  luring  magic  was  absorbing  his 
vital  strength.  Else  why  this  effort  to  rear  an  edifice  which 
must  crumble  under  its  own  weight,  once  the  architect  was 
removed  from  this  hectic  sphere  ? 

With  the  reckless  enthusiasm  of  his  character  the  imperial 
youth  had  plunged  into  the  deep  ocean  of  learning,  to  whose 
shores  his  studies  with  Benilo  conducted  him.  The  animated 
pictures  which  the  ponderous  tomes  presented,  into  whose 
dust  and  must  he  delved,  the  dramatic  splendour  of  the  narra 
tive  in  which  the  glowing  fancies  of  the  chroniclers  had 
clothed  the  stirring  events  of  the  times,  deeply  impressed  his 
susceptible  mind,  just  as  the  chords  of  ^Eolian  harps  are  mute 
till  the  chance  breeze  passes  which  wakes  them  into  passionate 
music.  Gerbert,  now  Sylvester  II,  had  no  wish  to  stifle  nor 
even  to  stem  this  natural  sensibility,  but  rather  to  divert  its 

226 


THE   ELIXIR    OF   LOVE 

energies  into  its  proper  channels,  for  he  was  too  deeply  versed 
in  human  science  not  to  know  that  even  the  eloquence  of 
religion  is  cold  and  powerless,  unless  kindled  by  those  fixed 
emotions  and  sparkling  thoughts  which  only  poetical  en 
thusiasm  can  strike  out  of  the  hard  flint  of  logic. 

But  now  the  activity  of  Otto's  genius,  lacking  the  proper 
channels,  vented  its  wild  profusion  in  inert  speculation  and 
dreamy  reverie.  Indistinct  longings  ventured  out  on  that 
shimmering  restless  sea  of  love  and  glory,  which  his  imagina 
tion  painted  hi  the  world,  a  vague  yearning  for  the  mysterious 
which  was  hinted  at  in  that  mediaeval  lore. 

All  things  were  possible  in  those  legends.  No  scent  of 
autumn  haunted  the  deep  verdure  of  those  forests,  even  the 
harsh  immutable  laws  of  nature  seemed  to  yield  to  their 
magic.  Death  and  Despair  and  Sorrow  were  but  fore-shadowed 
angels,  not  the  black  fiends  of  Northern  imagery.  Their  heroes 
and  heroines  died,  but  reclining  on  beds  of  violets,  the  songs  of 
nightingales  sweetly  warbling  them  to  rest. 

And  the  son  of  the  Greek  princess  resented  fiercely  any 
intrusion  into  his  paradise.  It  was  a  thankless  task  to  recall 
him  to  the  hour  and  to  reality. 

The  appearance  of  a  page,  who  summoned  Eckhardt  into 
Otto's  presence,  put  an  end  to  Benilo's  effusive  archae 
ology,  and  as  the  Margrave  disappeared  in  the  emperor's 
cabinet,  Benilo  wondered  how  much  he  knew. 

What  transpired  during  his  protracted  audience  remained 
for  the  present  the  secret  of  those  two.  But  when  Eckhardt 
left  the  palace,  his  brow  was  even  more  clouded  than  before. 
While  his  conference  with  Otto  had  not  been  instrumental  in 
dissipating  the  dread  misgivings  which  tortured  his  mind,  he 
had  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the  revelation  that  a 
fraud  had  been  perpetrated  upon  him.  For  Otto  disclaimed  all 
knowledge  of  signing  any  order  which  relieved  Eckhardt  of 
his  command,  flatly  declaring  it  a  forgery.  While  its  purpose 

227 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

was  easy  to  divine,  the  question  remained  whose  interest 
justified  his  venturing  so  desperate  a  chance  ?  Eckhardt  parted 
from  his  sovereign  with  the  latter's  full  approval  of  the  course 
his  leader  intended  to  pursue,  and  so  far  from  granting  him  the 
dispensation  once  desired,  Otto  did  not  hesitate  to  pronounce 
the  vision  which  had  interposed  at  the  fatal  moment  between 
Eckhardt  and  the  fulfilment  of  his  desire,  a  divine  interposition. 

Slowly  the  day  drew  to  a  close.  The  eve  of  the  great  festival 
approached. 

When  darkness  finally  fell  over  the  Capitoline  hill,  the  old 
palace  of  the  Caesars  seemed  to  waken  to  a  new  life.  In  the 
great  reception  hall  a  gorgeous  spectacle  awaited  the  guests. 
The  richly  dressed  crowds  buzzed  like  a  swarm  of  bees.  Their 
attires  were  iridescent,  gorgeous  in  fashions  borrowed  from 
many  lands.  The  invasion  of  foreigners  and  the  enslavement 
of  Italy  could  be  read  in  the  garbs  of  the  Romans.  The  robes 
of  the  women,  fashioned  after  the  supreme  style  of  Constanti 
nople,  hanging  in  heavy  folds,  stiff  with  gold  and  jewels, 
suggested  rather  ecclesiastical  vestments.  The  hair  was  con 
fined  hi  nets  of  gold. 

Stephania,  the  consort  of  the  Senator  of  Rome,  was  by 
common  accord  the  queen  of  the  festival  which  this  night 
was  to  usher  in.  Attracting,  as  she  did  on  every  turn,  the  eyes 
of  heedless  admirers,  her  triumphant  beauty  seemed  to  have 
chosen  a  fit  device  hi  the  garb  which  adorned  her,  some  filmy 
gossamer  web  of  India,  embroidered  with  moths  burning  their 
wings  hi  flame. 

Whether  or  no  she  was  conscious  of  the  lavish  admiration 
of  the  Romans,  her  eyes,  lustrous  under  the  dark  tresses,  were 
clear  and  cold;  her  smile  calm,  her  voice,  as  she  greeted  the 
arriving  guests,  melodious  and  thrilling  like  the  tones  of  a 
harp.  Amid  the  noise  and  buzz,  she  seemed  a  being  apart, 
alien,  solitary,  like  a  water  lily  on  some  silent  moon-lit  pool. 
At  last  a  loud  fanfare  of  trumpets  and  horns  announced  the 

228 


THE    ELIXIR   OF   LOVE 

arrival  of  the  German  king.  Attended  by  his  suite  the  son  of 
Theophano,  whose  spiritualized  beauty  he  seemed  to  have 
inherited,  received  the  homage  of  the  Senator  of  Rome,  the 
Cavalli,  Caetani,  Massimi  and  Stephaneschi.  Stephania  was 
standing  apart  in  a  more  remote  part  of  the  hall,  surrounded 
by  women  of  the  Roman  nobility.  Her  face  flushed  and  paled 
alternately  as  she  became  aware  of  the  commotion  at  the 
entrance.  The  airy  draperies  of  summer,  which  revealed  rather 
than  concealed  her  divine  beauty,  gave  her  the  appearance  of 
a  Circe,  conquering  every  heart  at  sight. 

As  she  slowly  advanced  toward  the  imperial  circle,  with  the 
three  appropriate  reverences  hi  use,  the  serene  composure  of 
her  countenance  made  it  seem  as  if  she  had  herself  been  born 
hi  purple.  But  as  Otto's  gaze  fell  upon  the  consort  of  the 
Senator  of  Rome,  he  suddenly  paused,  a  deep  pallor  chasing 
the  flush  of  joy  from  the  beardless  face.  Was  she  not  the 
woman  he  had  met  at  the  gates  of  the  confessional  ?  A  great 
pain  seized  his  heart  as  the  thought  came  to  him,  that  she  of 
whom  he  had  dreamed  ever  since  that  day,  she  in  whose  love 
he  had  pictured  to  himself  a  heaven,  was  the  consort  of  another. 
Before  him  stood  Stephania,  the  wife  of  his  former  foe,  the  wife 
of  the  Senator  of  Rome.  And  as  he  gazed  into  her  large  limpid 
eyes,  at  the  exquisite  contour  of  her  head,  at  the  small  crimson 
lips,  the  clear-cut  beauty  of  the  face,  of  the  tint  of  richest 
Carrara  marble,  Otto  trembled.  Unable  to  speak  a  word, 
fearful  lest  he  might  betray  his  emotions,  he  seized  the  white, 
firm  hand  which  she  extended  to  him  with  a  bewitching 
smile. 

"  So  we  are  to  behold  the  King's  majesty,  at  last,"  she 
said  with  a  voice  whose  very  accent  thrilled  him  through  and 
through.  "  I  thought  you  were  never  going  to  do  us  that 
honour,  —  master  of  Rome,  and  master  —  of  Rome's  mis 
tress." 

Her  speech,  as  she  bent  slightly  toward  him,  whispering 

229 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

rather  than  speaking  the  last  words,  filled  Otto's  soul  with 
intoxication.  Stunned  by  the  manner  of  his  reception,  her 
mysterious  words  still  ringing  in  his  ears,  Otto  muttered  a 
reply,  intelligible  to  none  but  herself,  nerving  his  whole  nature 
to  remain  calm,  though  his  heart  beat  so  loudly  that  he  thought 
all  present  must  hear  its  wild  throbs  even  through  his  imperial 
vestments. 

As  slowly,  reluctantly  he  retreated  from  her  presence,  to 
greet  the  rest  of  the  assembled  guests,  Otto  marked  not  the 
meaning-fraught  exchange  of  glances  between  the  Senator  of 
Rome  and  his  wife.  The  smiles  of  the  beautiful  women  around 
him  were  as  full  of  warning  as  the  scowls  of  a  Roman  mob. 
Once  or  twice  Otto  gazed  as  if  by  chance  hi  the  direction  of 
Stephania.  Each  time  their  eyes  met.  Truly,  if  the  hatred  of 
Crescentius  was  a  menace  to  his  life,  the  favour  of  Stephania 
seemed  to  summon  him  to  dizzy,  perilous  heights. 

At  last  the  banquet  was  served,  the  company  seated  and 
amidst  soft  strains  of  music,  the  festival  took  its  course.  Otto 
now  had  an  opportunity  to  study  in  detail  the  galaxy  of  profli 
gate  courtiers  and  beauties,  which  shed  their  glare  over  the 
sunset  of  Crescentius 's  reign.  But  so  absorbed  was  he  in  the 
beauty  of  Stephania,  that,  though  he  attempted  to  withdraw  his 
eyes,  lest  their  prolonged  gaze  should  attract  observation,  still 
they  ever  returned  with  increased  and  devouring  eagerness 
to  feast  upon  her  incomparable  beauty,  while  with  a  strange 
agony  of  mingled  jealousy  and  anger  he  noted  the  court  paid 
to  the  beautiful  wife  of  Crescentius  by  the  Roman  barons, 
chief  among  them  Benilo.  It  seemed,  as  if  the  latter  wanted 
to  urge  the  king  to  some  open  and  indiscreet  demonstration 
by  the  fire  of  his  own  admiration,  and,  dear  as  he  was  to  his 
heart,  Otto  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  at  the  thought  that  he  had 
guarded  his  secret,  which  if  revealed,  would  place  him  beyond 
redemption  in  the  power  of  his  enemy,  the  Senator. 

Stephania  herself  seemed  for  the  nonce  too  much  absorbed 

230 


THE    ELIXIR    OF   LOVE 

in  her  own  amusements  to  notice  the  emotions  she  had 
evoked  in  the  young  king  of  the  Germans.  But  when  she 
chanced  to  turn  her  smiling  eyes  from  the  Senator,  her  husband, 
she  suddenly  met  the  ardent  gaze  of  Otto  riveted  upon  her  with 
burning  intensity.  The  smile  died  on  her  lips  and  for  a  moment 
the  colour  faded  from  her  cheeks.  Otto  flushed  a  deep  crimson 
and  played  in  affected  indifference  with  the  tassels  of  his 
sword,  and  for  some  moments  they  seemed  to  take  no  further 
heed  of  each  other.  What  happened  at  the  banquet,  what 
was  spoken  and  the  speakers,  to  Otto  it  was  one  whirling 
chaos.  He  saw  nothing;  he  heard  nothing.  The  gaze  of 
Stephania,  the  wife  of  Crescentius,  had  cast  its  spell  over  him 
and  there  was  but  one  thought  in  his  mind,  —  but  one  dream 
in  his  heart. 

At  the  request  of  some  one,  some  of  the  guests  changed  their 
seats.  Otto  noted  it  not.  Peals  of  laughter  reverberated 
through  the  high  arched  Sala;  some  one  recited  an  ode  on 
the  past  greatness  of  Rome,  followed  by  loud  applause;  to 
Otto  it  was  a  meaningless  sound.  Suddenly  he  heard  his  own 
name  from  lips  whose  tones  caused  him  to  start,  as  if  electrified. 

Stephania  sat  by  his  side.  Crescentius  seemed  conversing 
eagerly  with  some  of  the  barons.  Raising  her  arm,  white  as 
fallen  snow,  she  poured  a  fine  crimson  wine  into  a  goblet, 
until  it  swelled  to  the  golden  brim.  There  was  a  simultaneous 
bustle  of  pages  and  attendants,  offering  fruits  and  wine  to  the 
guests,  and  Otto  mechanically  took  some  grapes  from  a  salver 
which  was  presented  to  him,  but  never  for  a  moment  averted 
his  gaze  from  Stephania,  until  she  lifted  the  goblet  to  her 
lips. 

"  To  thee !  "  she  whispered  with  a  swift  glance  at  Otto,  which 
went  to  his  heart's  core.  She  sipped  from  the  goblet,  then, 
bending  to  him,  held  it  herself  to  his  lips.  His  trembling  hands 
for  a  moment  covered  her  own  and  he  drank  strangely  deep  of 
the  crimson  wine,  which  made  his  senses  reel,  and  in  the  trance 

231 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

in  which  their  eyes  met,  neither  noticed  the  sphinx-like  ex 
pression  on  the  face  of  Benilo,  the  Grand  Chamberlain. 

But  if  the  wine,  of  which  Otto  had  partaken  with  Stephania, 
was  not  in  reality  compounded  of  magic  ingredients,  the  most 
potent  love  philtre  could  scarcely  have  been  more  efficacious. 
For  the  first  time  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  yielded  up  his  whole 
soul  and  being  to  the  fascination  of  marvellous  beauty,  and  with 
such  loveliness  exhausting  upon  him  all  its  treasures  of  infinite 
charm,  wit  and  tenderness,  stirred  by  every  motive  of  triumph 
and  rivalry,  —  even  if  a  deceptive  apology  had  not  worked  hi 
his  own  mind,  it  would  scarcely  have  been  possible  to  resist 
the  spell. 

The  banquet  passed  off  in  great  splendour,  enlivened  by  the 
most  glittering  and  unscrupulous  wit.  Thousands  of  lamps 
shed  their  effulgence  on  the  scene,  revealing  toward  the  end  a 
fantastic  pageant,  descending  the  grand  stair-case  to  some 
equally  strange  and  fantastic  music.  It  was  a  procession  of 
the  ancient  deities ;  but  so  great  was  the  illiterate  state  of  mind 
among  the  Romans  of  that  period,  that  the  ideas  they  repre 
sented  of  the  olden  time  were  hopelessly  perplexed  and  an 
antiquarian,  had  there  been  one  present,  would  have  thrown 
up  his  hands  in  despair  at  the  incongruous  attire  of  the  pagan 
divinities  who  had  invaded  the  most  Christian  city.  During 
this  procession  Otto's  eyes  for  the  third  time  sought  those  of 
Stephania.  She  seemed  to  feel  it,  for  she  turned  and  her  lips 
responded  with  a  smile. 

The  night  passed  like  some  fantastic  dream,  conjured  up 
from  fairy  land.  And  Otto  carried  his  dreaming  heart  back  to 
the  lonely  palace  on  the  Aventine. 


232 


CHAPTER   IV 


THE    SECRET   OF   THE   TOMB 

HILE  the  revelling  on  the 
Capitoline  hill  was  at  its  height, 
Eckhardt  had  approached  Benilo 
and  drawing  him  aside,  engaged 
him  in  lengthy  conversation. 
The  Chamberlain's  countenance 
had  lost  its  studied  calm  and 
betrayed  an  amazement  which 
vainly  endeavoured  to  vent  it 
self  in  adequate  utterance.  He 
appeared  to  offer  a  strenuous  opposition  to  Eckhardt's  request, 
an  opposition  which  yielded  only  when  every  argument  seemed 
to  have  failed.  At  last  they  had  parted,  Eckhardt  passing 
unobserved  to  a  terrace  and  gaining  a  path  that  led  through 
an  orange  grove  behind  the  Vatican  gardens.  A  few  steps 
brought  him  to  a  gate,  which  opened  on  a  narrow  vicolo. 
Here  he  paused  and  clapped  his  hands  softly  together.  The 
signal  was  repeated  from  the  other  side  and  Eckhardt  there 
upon  lifted  the  heavy  iron  latch,  which  fastened  the  gate  on 
the  inner  side  and,  passing  out,  carefully  closed  it  behind  him. 
Here  he  was  joined  by  another  personage  wrapt  in  a  long,  dark 
cloak,  and  together  they  proceeded  through  a  maze  of  dark, 
narrow  and  unfrequented  alleys.  Lane  after  lane  they  trav 
ersed,  all  unpaved  and  muddy.  Another  ten  minutes'  walk 
between  lightless  houses,  whose  doors  and  windows  were  for 
the  most  part  closed  and  barred,  and  they  reached  an  old  time- 
worn  dwelling  with  a  low  unsightly  doorway.  It  was  secured 

233 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

by  strong  fastenings  of  bolts  and  bars,  as  though  its  tenant 
had  sufficient  motives  for  affecting  privacy  and  retirement. 
The  very  nature  of  his  calling  would  however  have  secured  him 
from  intrusion  either  by  day  or  by  night,  from  any  one  not 
immediately  in  need  of  his  services.  For  here  lived  II  Gobbo, 
the  grave  digger,  a  busy  personage  hi  the  Rome  of  those  days. 
Eckhardt  and  his  companion  exchanged  a  swift  glance  as  they 
approached  the  uncanny  dwelling;  eyeless,  hoary  with  vegeta 
tion,  rooted  here  and  there,  the  front  of  the  house  gave  no 
welcome.  Eckhardt  whispered  a  question  to  his  companion, 
which  was  answered  in  the  affirmative.  Then  he  bade  him 
knock.  After  a  wait  of  brief  duration,  the  summons  was 
answered  by  a  low  cough  within.  Shuffling  footsteps  were 
heard,  then  the  unbarring  of  a  door,  followed  by  the  creaking 
of  hhiges,  and  the  low  bent  figure  of  an  old  man  appeared. 
II  Gobbo,  the  grave  digger  wore  a  loose  gray  tunic,  which  reached 
to  his  knees.  What  was  visible  of  his  countenance  was  cadav 
erous  and  ashen  gray,  as  that  of  a  corpse.  His  small  rat-like 
eyes,  whose  restless  vigilance  argued  some  deficiency  or  warping 
of  the  brain, a  tendency, however  remote,  to  insanity,  scrutinized 
the  stranger  with  marked  suspicion,  while  a  long  nose,  curving 
downward  over  a  projecting  upper  lip,  which  seemed  in  per 
petual  tremor,  imbued  his  countenance  with  something 
strangely  Mephistophelian. 

In  a  very  few  words  Eckhardt's  companion  requested 
the  grave  digger  to  make  ready  and  follow  them,  and 
that  worthy,  seeing  nothing  strange  in  a  summons  of 
this  sort,  complied  at  once,  took  pick  and  spade,  and 
after  having  locked  and  barred  his  habitation,  asked  his 
solicitor  to  which  burial  grounds  he  was  to  accompany 
them. 

"  To  San  Pancrazio,"  was  Eckhardt's  curt  reply.  The 
silence  had  become  almost  insufferable  to  him,  and  something 
hi  the  manner  of  his  speech  caused  the  grave  digger  to  be- 

234 


THE   SECRET    OF   THE   TOMB 

stow  on  him  a  swift  glance.  Then  he  preceded  them  in  silence 
on  the  well-known  way. 

It  was  a  wonderful  night. 

There  was  not  a  breath  of  air  to  stir  the  dying  leaves  of 
the  trees.  The  clouds,  which  had  risen  at  sunset  in  the  West, 
had  vanished,  leaving  the  sky  unobscured,  arching  deep  blue 
over  the  yellow  moon. 

As  they  approached  the  Ripetta,  the  grave  digger  suddenly 
paused  and,  facing  the  Margrave  and  his  companion,  inquired 
where  the  corpse  was  awaiting  them. 

A  strange,  jarring  laugh  broke  from  Eckhardt's  lips. 

"  Never  fear,  my  honest  friend !  It  is  a  very  well  conditioned 
corpse,  that  will  play  us  no  pranks  and  run  away.  Corpses 
do  sometimes  —  so  I  have  been  told.  What  think  you,  honest 
II  Gobbo  ?  " 

The  grave  digger  bestowed  a  glance  upon  his  interlocutor, 
which  left  little  doubt  as  to  what  he  thought  of  his  patron's 
sanity,  then  he  crossed  himself  and  hastened  onward.  The 
Tiber  lay  now  on  their  left,  and  an  occasional  flash  revealed 
the  turbid  waves  rolling  down  toward  the  sea  in  the  moonlight. 
Eckhardt  and  his  companion  exchanged  not  a  word,  as  silently 
they  strode  behind  their  uncanny  guide.  On  their  left  hand 
now  appeared  the  baths  of  Caracalla,  their  external  mag 
nificence  slowly  crumbling  to  decay,  waterless  and  desolate. 
Towering  on  their  right  rose  the  Caelian  hill  in  the  moonlight, 
covered  with  ruins  and  neglected  gardens.  The  rays  of  the 
higher  rising  moon  fell  through  the  great  arches  of  the  Neronian 
Aqueduct  and  near  by  were  the  round  church  of  St.  Stephen 
and  a  cloister  dedicated  to  St.  Erasmus.  As  they  proceeded 
over  the  narrow  grass-grown  road,  the  silence  which  encom 
passed  them  was  as  intense  as  among  the  Appian  sepulchres. 
At  the  gate  of  San  Sebastiano,  all  traces  of  the  road  vanished. 
A  winding  path  conducted  them  through  a  narrow  valley, 
the  silence  of  which  was  only  broken  by  the  occasional  hoot  of 

235 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

an  owl,  or  the  flitting  across  their  path  of  a  bat,  which  like  an 
evil  thought,  seemed  afraid  of  its  own  shadow.  Then  they 
passed  the  ancient  church  of  Santa  Ursula,  which  for  many 
years  formed  the  center  of  a  churchyard.  The  path  became 
more  sterile  and  desolate  with  every  step,  only  a  few  dwarfish 
shrubs  breaking  the  monotony,  to  make  it  appear  even  more 
like  a  wilderness,  until  they  came  upon  a  ruined  wall,  and  follow 
ing  its  course  for  some  distance,  reached  a  heavy  iron  gate. 
It  gave  a  dismal,  creaking  sound  as  II  Gobbo  pushed  it 
open  and  entered  the  churchyard  of  San  Pancrazio  in  advance 
of  his  companions. 

Pausing  ere  he  continued  upon  a  way  as  yet  unknown  to 
him,  he  again  turned  questioningly  toward  his  mysterious 
summoners,  for  as  far  as  his  eye  could  reach  in  the  bright 
moonlight,  he  could  discover  no  trace  of  a  funeral  cortege  or 
ever  so  small  number  of  mourners.  Instead  of  satisfying 
II  Gobbo's  curiosity,  Eckhardt  briefly  ordered  him  to  follow  him, 
and  the  grave  digger,  shaking  his  head  with  grave  doubt,  followed 
the  mysterious  stranger,  who  seemed  so  familiar  with  this 
abode  of  Death.  They  traversed  the  churchyard  at  a  rapid 
pace,  until  they  reached  a  mortuary  chapel  situated  in  a  remote 
region.  Here  Eckhardt  and  his  companion  paused,  and  the 
former,  turning  about  and  facing  II  Gobbo,  pointed  to  a  grave 
in  the  shadows  of  the  chapel. 

"  Know  you  this  grave  ?  "  the  Margrave  accosted  the 
grave  digger,  pointing  to  the  grass-plot  at  his  feet. 

The  grave  digger  seemed  to  grope  through  the  depths  of  his 
memory;  then  he  bent  low  as  if  to  decipher  the  inscription 
on  the  stone,  but  this  effort  was  in  so  far  superfluous,  as  he 
could  not  read. 

"  Here  lies  one  Ginevra,  —  the  wife  of  the  German  Com 
mander  —  " 

He  paused,  again  searching  his  memory,  but  this  time  in  vain. 

"  Eckhardt,"  supplied  the  Margrave  himself. 

236 


THE    SECRET    OF    THE    TOMB 

"  Eckhardt  —  Eckhardt,"  the  grave  digger  echoed,  crossing 
himself  at  the  sound  of  the  dreaded  name. 

"  Open  the  grave !  "  Eckhardt  broke  into  II  Gobbo's  babbling, 
who  had  been  wondering  to  what  purpose  he  had  been  brought 
here. 

II  Gobbo  stared  up  at  the  speaker  as  if  he  mistrusted  his  hear 
ing,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  Open  the  grave !  "  Eckhardt  repeated,  leaning  upon  his 
sword. 

II  Gobbo  shook  his  head.  No  doubt  the  man  was  mad; 
else  why  should  he  prefer  the  strange  request  ?  He  looked 
questioningly  at  Eckhardt's  companion,  as  if  expecting  the 
latter  to  interfere.  But  he  moved  not.  A  strange  fear  began 
to  creep  over  the  grave  digger. 

"  Here  is  a  purse  of  gold,  enough  to  dispel  the  qualms  of  your 
conscience,"  Eckhardt  spoke  with  terrible  firmness  in  his 
tones,  offering  II  Gobbo  a  leather  purse  of  no  mean  size.  But 
the  latter  pushed  it  back  with  abhorrence. 

"  I  cannot  —  I  dare  not.  Who  are  you  to  prefer  this 
strange  request  ?  " 

"  I  am  Eckhardt,  the  general !     Open  the  grave !  " 

II  Gobbo  cringed  as  though  he  had  been  struck  a  blow  from 
some  hi  visible  hand. 

"  I  dare  not  —  I  dare  not,"  he  whined,  deprecating  the 
proffered  gift.  "  The  sin  would  be  visited  upon  my  head. — 
It  is  written:  Disturb  not  the  dead." 

A  terrible  look  passed  into  Eckhardt's  face. 

"  Is  this  purse  not  heavy  enough  ?    I  will  add  another." 

"  It  is  not  that  —  it  is  not  that,"  II  Gobbo  replied,  almost 
weeping  with  terror.  "  I  dread  the  vengeance  of  the 
dead!  They  will  not  permit  the  sacrilege  to  pass  unpun 
ished." 

"  Then  let  the  punishment  fall  on  my  head !  "  replied  Eck 
hardt  with  terrible  voice.  "  Take  your  spade,  old  man,  for 

237 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

by  the  Almighty  God  who  looks  down  upon  us,  you  will  not 
leave  this  place  alive,  unless  you  do  as  you  are  told." 

The  old  grave  digger  trembled  in  every  limb.  Helplessly 
he  gazed  about;  imploringly  he  looked  up  into  the  face  of 
Eckhardt's  immobile  companion,  but  he  read  nothing  in  the 
eyes  of  these  two,  save  unrelenting  determination.  Instinctively 
he  knew  that  no  argument  would  avail  to  deter  them  from  their 
mad  purpose. 

Eckhardt  watched  the  old  man  closely. 

"  You  dug  this  grave  yourself,  three  years  ago,"  he  then 
spoke  in  a  tone  strangely  mingled  of  despair  and  irony.  "  It 
is  a  poor  grave  digger  who  permits  his  dead  to  leave  their  cold 
and  narrow  berth  and  go  forth  among  the  living  in  the  form 
they  bore  on  earth!  It  has  been  whispered  to  me,"  he  con 
tinued  with  a  terrible  laugh,  "  that  some  of  your  graves  are 
shallow.  I  would  fain  be  convinced  with  my  own  eyes,  just 
to  be  able  to  give  your  calumniators  the  lie !  Therefore,  good 
II  Gobbo,  take  up  your  spade  with  all  speed,  and  imagine,  as 
you  perform  your  task,  that  you  are  not  opening  this  grave  to 
disturb  the  repose  of  her  who  sleeps  beneath  the  sod,  but 
preparing  a  reception  to  one  still  in  the  flesh !  Proceed !  " 

The  last  word  was  spoken  with  such  menace  that  the  grave 
digger  reluctantly  complied,  and  taking  up  the  spade,  which 
he  had  dropped,  he  pushed  it  slowly  into  the  sod.  Leaning 
silently  on  his  sword,  his  face  the  pallor  of  death,  Eckhardt  and 
his  companion  watched  the  progress  of  the  terrible  work, 
watched  one  shovel  of  earth  after  the  other  fly  up,  piling  up 
by  the  side  of  the  grave;  watched  the  oblong  opening  grow 
deeper  and  deeper,  till  after  a  breathless  pause  of  some  duration 
the  spade  of  the  grave  digger  was  heard  to  strike  the  top  of  the 
coffin. 

II  Gobbo,  who  all  but  his  head  stood  now  in  the  grave, 
looked  up  imploringly  to  Eckhardt,  hoping  that  at  the  last 
moment  he  would  desist  from  the  terrible  sacrilege  he  was 

238 


THE    SECRET    OF   THE    TOMB 

about  to  commit.  But  when  he  read  only  implacable  deter 
mination  in  the  commander's  face,  he  again  turned  to  his  task 
and  continued  to  throw  up  the  earth  until  the  coffin  stood  free 
and  unimpeded  in  its  narrow  berth. 

"  I  cannot  raise  it  up,"  the  old  man  whined.  "  It  is  too 
heavy." 

"  We  will  assist  you !  Out  it  shall  come  if  all  the  devils  in 
hell  clung  to  it  from  beneath.  Bring  your  ropes  and  bring  them 
quickly!  Hear  you?"  thundered  Eckhardt  hi  a  frenzy. 
His  self -enforced  calm  was  fast  giving  way  before  the  terrible 
ordeal  he  was  passing  through. 

"  Would  it  not  be  safer  to  go  down  and  open  the  lid  ?  " 
questioned  Eckhardt's  companion,  for  the  first  time  breaking 
the  silence. 

"  There  is  not  room  enough,  —  unless  the  berth  is  widened," 
Eckhardt  replied.  Then  he  turned  to  II  Gobbo,  who  was 
slowly  scrambling  out  of  the  grave. 

"  Widen  the  berth  —  we  will  come  down  to  you !  " 

The  grave  digger  returned  to  his  task;  then  after  a  time, 
which  seemed  eternity  to  those  waiting  above,  his  head  again 
appeared  in  the  opening.  One  shovel  of  earth  after  another 
flew  up  at  the  feet  of  Eckhardt  and  his  companion.  Again 
and  again  they  heard  the  spade  strike  against  the  coffin,  till 
at  last  something  like  a  groan  out  of  the  gloom  below  informed 
them  that  the  task  had  been  accomplished. 

"  Have  you  any  tools  ?  "  Eckhardt  shouted  to  II  Gobbo. 

"  None  to  serve  that  end,"  stammered  the  grave  digger. 

"  Then  take  your  spade  and  prise  the  lid  open !  "  cried 
Eckhardt.  He  was  trembling  like  an  aspen,  and  his  breath 
came  hard  through  his  half-closed  lips.  The  expression  of 
his  face  and  his  demeanour  were  such  as  to  vanquish  the  last 
scruples  of  II  Gobbo,  who  belaboured  the  coffin  with  much  good 
will,  which  was  mocked  by  the  result,  for  it  seemed  to  have 
been  hermetically  sealed. 

239 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

After  waiting  some  time  in  deadly,  harrowing  suspense, 
Eckhardt  addressed  his  companion. 

"  I  hate  to  abase  my  good  sword  for  such  a  purpose,  —  but 
the  coffin  shall  be  opened."  And  without  warning  he  bounded 
down  into  the  grave,  while  II  Gobbo,  thinking  his  last  moment 
at  hand,  had  dropped  pick  and  spade,  and  stood,  more  dead 
than  alive,  at  the  foot  of  the  grave. 

Picking  up  the  grave  digger's  spade,  Eckhardt  dealt  the  coffin 
such  a  terrific  blow  that  he  splintered  its  top  to  atoms.  A 
second  blow  completely  severed  the  lid,  and  it  lurched  heavily 
to  one  side,  lodging  between  the  coffin  and  the  earth  wall. 

The  ensuing  silence  was  intense. 

The  moon,  which  had  risen  high  in  the  heavens,  illumined 
with  her  beams  the  chasm  in  which  Eckhardt  stood,  bending 
over  the  coffin.  What  his  eyes  beheld  was  too  terrible  for  words 
to  express.  Only  one  tress  of  dark  silken  hair  had  escaped 
the  dread  havoc  of  death,  which  the  open  coffin  revealed.  It 
was  a  sight  such  as  would  cause  the  blood  to  freeze  hi  the  veins 
of  the  bravest.  It  was  the  visible  execution  of  the  judgment 
pronounced  hi  the  garden  of  Eden:  "  Dust  thou  art,  and  to 
dust  thou  shalt  return." 

Only  one  dark  silken  tress  of  all  that  splendour  of  body  and 
youth ! 

Eckhardt  leaped  from  the  grave  and  stood  aside,  leaving 
it  for  his  companion  to  give  his  final  instructions  to 
II  Gobbo,  the  grave  digger,  and  the  reward  for  his  night's 
labour. 

As  they  strode  from  the  churchyard  of  San  Pancrazio, 
neither  spoke.  The  havoc  of  death,  which  Eckhardt's  eyes 
had  beheld,  the  contrast  between  the  image  of  Ginevra,  such 
as  it  lived  hi  his  memory,  and  the  sight  which  had  met  his 
eyes,  had  re-opened  every  wound  hi  his  heart.  No  beam  of 
hope,  no  thought  of  heavenly  mercy,  penetrated  the  night  of 
his  soul.  His  heart  seemed  steel-cased  and  completely  walled 

240 


THE   SECRET    OF   THE   TOMB 

up.  He  could  not  even  shed  a  tear.  One  hour  had  worked  a 
dreadful  transformation.  Silently  the  Margrave  and  his  com 
panion  left  the  churchyard.  Silently  they  turned  toward  the 
city.  At  the  base  of  Aventine,  Benilo  parted  from  Eckhardt, 
himself  more  dead  than  alive,  promising  to  see  him  on  the 
folio  whig  day.  He  dared  not  trust  himself  even  to  ask  Eckhardt 
what  he  had  seen.  There  would  be  time  enough  when  his 
terrible  frenzy  had  subsided. 

As  Eckhardt  continued  upon  his  way,  he  grew  more  calm. 
The  feast  of  Death,  which  he  had  dared  to  break  into,  while 
for  a  time  completely  stupefying  him  with  its  horrors,  seemed 
at  least  to  have  brought  proof  positive,  that  whoever  Ginevra's 
double,  it  was  not  Ginevra  returned  to  earth.  There  was  much 
in  that  thought  to  comfort  his  soul,  and  after  the  fresh  air  of 
night  had  cooled  his  fevered  brow,  saner  reflections  began  to 
gam  sway  over  his  whirling  brain. 

But  they  did  not  endure.  What  he  had  seen  proved  nothing. 
Another  body  might  have  been  substituted  in  the  coffin.  The 
supposition  was  monstrous  indeed  —  yet  even  the  wildest 
surmises  seemed  justified  when  thrown  hi  the  scales  against 
the  fatal  likeness  of  the  woman  who  had  drawn  him  from  the 
altars  of  Christ,  had  frustrated  his  design  to  become  a  monk, 
and  had,  as  he  believed,  attempted  his  life.  Could  he  but  find 
the  monk  who  had  conducted  the  last  rites!  He  had  searched 
for  him  hi  every  cloister  and  sanctuary  hi  Rome,  yet  all  those 
of  whom  he  inquired  disclaimed  all  knowledge  of  his  abode. 
Several  times  the  thought  had  recurred  to  Eckhardt  of  return 
ing  to  the  Groves,  to  seek  a  second  interview  with  the  woman, 
and  thus  for  ever  to  silence  his  doubts.  But  a  strange  dread 
had  assailed  and  restrained  him  from  the  execution.  There 
was  something  hi  the  woman's  eyes  he  had  never  seen  in 
Ginevra's,  and  he  felt  that  he  would  inevitably  succumb, 
should  he  ever  again  stand  face  to  face  with  her.  He  almost 
wished  that  he  had  followed  Benilo's  advice,  —  that  he  had 

241 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

refrained  from  an  act  prompted  by  frenzy  and  despair.  Vain 
regrets!  He  must  find  the  monk,  if  he  was  still  in  Rome. 
Though  everything  and  everybody  seemed  to  have  conspired 
against  him  nothing  should  bend  him  from  his  course. 


242 


CHAPTER  V 


THE    GROTTOS    OF   EGERIA 

OR  the  following  day  the  Sena 
tor  of  Rome  had  arranged  a 
Festival  of  Pan,  and  the  place 
appointed  for  the  divertissement 
was  one  which  the  Seneschal  of 
the  Decameron  might  have 
chosen  as  fit  for  the  reception  of 
his  luxurious  masters,  where 
every  object  was  in  harmony  with 
the  delicious  and  charmed  exist 
ence  which  they  had  devised  in  defiance  of  Death.  Arcades  of 
vines,  bright  with  the  gold  and  russet  foliage  of  autumn,  ascended 
in  winding  terraces  to  a  height,  on  which  they  converged,  form 
ing  a  spacious  canopy  over  an  expanse  of  brightest  emerald 
turf,  inlaid  with  a  mosaic  of  flowers.  In  the  centre  there  was 
a  fountain,  which  sent  its  spray  to  a  great  height  in  the  clear 
air,  refreshing  soul  and  body  with  the  harmony  of  its  waters. 
Between  the  interstices  of  the  vines,  magnificent  views  of  the 
whole  surrounding  country  were  offered  to  the  eye,  to  which 
feature  perhaps,  or  to  the  effect  of  a  dazzling  variety  of 
late  roses,  which  grew  among  the  vines,  and  the  lofty  cypresses 
which  made  the  elevation  a  conspicuous  object  in  every  direc 
tion,  it  owes  its  present  designation  of  Belvedere. 

Stephania's  spell  had  worked  powerfully  on  its  intended 
victim.  Surrounded  by  everything  which  could  kindle  the 
fires  of  Love  and  stimulate  the  imagination,  exposed  to  the 
influence  of  her  marvellous  beauty  and  the  infinite  charm  of 

243 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

her  individuality,  Otto  was  devoured  by  a  passion,  which 
hourly  increased,  despite  the  struggle  which  he  put  forth  to 
resist  it.  Stephania's  absence  had  taught  him  how  necessary 
she  had  become  to  his  existence,  and  although  he  was  well  in 
formed  that  she  rarely  quitted  Castel  San  Angelo,  he  was  yet 
tortured  by  the  wildest  fancies,  entirely  oblivious  that  he  had 
given  all  his  youth,  his  love,  his  heart  to  a  beautiful  phantom,  - 
the  wife  of  another,  who  could  never  be  his  own.  And  though 
he  endeavoured  to  reason  with  his  madness,  though  he  ques 
tioned  himself  where  it  would  lead  to,  in  what  strange  manner 
he  had  absorbed  the  poison  which  rioted  in  his  system,  it  was 
of  no  avail.  The  dictates  of  Fate  vanquish  the  paltry  laws 
of  mortals.  This  love  had  come  to  him  unbidden  —  uncalled. 
Why  must  the  soul  remain  for  ever  isolated  when  the  unbounded 
feast  of  beauty  was  spread  to  all  the  senses?  And  was  it  not 
too  late  to  retreat  ?  It  was  the  last  trump  of  the  tempter. 

He  won. 

As  he  approached  the  Minotaurus,  Otto's  hope  brightened 
with  the  tints  of  the  rainbow.  For  the  first  time  since  his 
return  from  Monte  Gargano  he  had  discarded  his  usual  cum 
brous  habiliments,  and  though  his  garb  was  still  that  prescribed 
by  the  court  ceremonial,  it  added  much  to  display  his  princely 
person  to  advantage.  Confiding  much  more  in  the  secrecy  of 
his  movements  than  in  the  protection  of  his  attendants,  Otto 
had  left  the  palace  on  the  Aventine  unobserved  and  arrived  in 
the  vale  of  Egeria  with  a  whirl  of  passion  and  a  rush  of  recol 
lections,  which  not  only  took  from  him  all  power,  but  every 
wish  of  resistance,  —  a  far  more  dangerous  symptom. 

Stephania's  duenna  was  in  waiting  and  informed  him  that 
the  latter  had  dismissed  her  ladies  to  amuse  themselves  at 
their  pleasure  in  the  gardens,  while  Stephania  herself  was 
wreathing  a  garland  for  the  evening  in  the  Egerian  Grotto, 
which  formed  the  centre  of  the  fantastic  labyrinth  called  the 
Minotaurus,  from  an  antique  statue  of  the  monster  which 

244 


THE   GROTTOS   OF   EGERIA 

adorned  it.  Slipping  a  ring  of  great  value  on  the  old  dame's 
finger,  as  a  testimony,  he  said,  of  his  gratitude,  for  watching 
over  her  mistress,  Otto  hastened  onward.  His  heart  beat  so 
heavily  when  he  came  within  view  of  the  rose-matted  arches 
leading  to  the  ancient  grotto,  that  he  was  obliged  to  pause  to 
recover  his  breath.  At  that  moment  a  voice  fell  upon  his  ear, 
but  it  was  not  the  voice  of  Stephania,  and  with  a  feeling  almost 
of  suffocation  in  the  intensity  of  his  passion,  Otto  drew  aside 
the  foliage  to  ascertain  whether  or  not  his  senses  had  belied 
him. 

The  figure  of  the  Minotaurus  was  cast  hi  bronze,  a  mon 
strous  bull,  crouched,  head  to  the  ground,  on  the  marble  pave 
ment  of  the  temple.  Passing  the  statue,  Otto  made  for  the 
grotto  indicated  by  his  guide,  and,  raising  the  tapestry  of  ivy, 
which  concealed  it,  disappeared  within.  Guided  by  the  warm 
evening  light  to  its  entrance,  he  hesitated  as  if  apprehending 
some  treachery.  Then,  with  quick  determination  he  groped 
his  way  into  the  cavern,  paused  somewhat  suddenly  and  looked 
about. 

It  was  deserted,  but  a  faint  glimmer  lured  him  to  the  back 
ground,  where  a  fountain  gleamed  in  the  purple  twilight. 

"  Rash  mortal,"  said  a  voice,  hi  tones  that  made  his  heart 
jump  to  his  throat,  "  I  think  you  are  now  as  near  as  devout 
worshippers  are  wont  to  approach  to  my  waves,  though,  as 
one  of  the  initiated,  the  vestal  nymphs  of  these  caves  bid  you 
very  welcome." 

"  I  have  kept  my  faith,"  Otto  replied,  pausing  before  the 
veiled  apparition  which  sat  on  the  rim  of  the  fountain.  "  But 
your  veil  hides  you  as  effectually  from  my  gaze  as  a  moun 
tain." 

His  agitation  betrayed  itself  in  his  wavering  tones. 

"  Are  you  afraid,"  she  asked,  noting  his  hesitancy,  "  lest  I 
should  prove  the  fiend  who  tempted  Cyprianus  ?  " 

"  All  fears  redouble  in  the  darkness.  Let  me  see  your  face !  " 

245 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

"  Why  have  you  come  here  ?  " 

"  Why  have  you  summoned  me  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  to  test  your  courage." 

"  I  fear  nothing !  " 

"  One  word  of  mine,  one  gesture,  —  and  you  are  my  pris 
oner." 

Otto  remained  standing.  His  face  was  pale,  but  no  trace  of 
fear  appeared  thereon. 

"  I  trust  you." 

"  I  am  a  Roman,  —  and  your  enemy !  I  am  the  enemy  of 
your  people !  " 

"I  trust  you!" 

"  Suppose  I  had  lured  you  hither  to  end  for  ever  this  un 
bearable  state  ?  " 

"  I  trust  you !  " 

Stephania's  eyes  cowered  beneath  Otto's  gaze.  Rising 
abruptly  she  averted  her  head,  but  every  trace  of  colour  had 
left  her  face  as  she  raised  the  veil.  Then  she  turned  slowly  and 
extended  her  hand.  Otto  grasped  it,  pressing  it  to  his  lips 
hi  an  ecstasy  of  joy,  then  he  drew  her  down  to  the  seat  she  had 
abandoned,  kneeling  by  her  side. 

For  a  moment  she  gazed  at  him  thoughtfully. 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  "  she  then  asked  abruptly. 

"  I  would  have  you  be  my  friend,"  he  stammered,  idol- 
worship  in  his  eyes. 

"  Is  a  woman's  friendship  so  rare  a  commodity,  that  you 
come  to  me  ?  "  she  replied,  drawing  her  hand  from  him. 

"  I  have  never  known  woman's  love  nor  friendship,  —  and 
it  is  yours  I  want." 

Stephania  drew  a  long  breath.  Truly,  —  it  required  no 
effort  on  her  part  to  lead  him  on.  He  made  her  task  an  easy 
one.  Yet  there  rose  in  her  heart  a  spark  of  pity.  The  complete 
trust  of  this  boy-king  was  to  the  wife  of  Crescentius  a  novel 
sensation  in  the  atmosphere  of  doubt  and  suspicion  in  which 

246 


THE    GROTTOS    OF    EGERIA 

she  had  grown  up.  It  was  almost  a  pity  to  shatter  the  temple 
in  which  he  had  placed  her  as  goddess. 

The  mood  held  sway  but  a  moment,  then  with  a  cry  of 
delirious  gayety,  she  wrote  the  word  "  Friendship  "  rapidly 
on  the  water. 

"  Look,"  she  said,  "  scarcely  a  ripple  remains !  That  is 
the  end.  Let  us  but  add  another  word,  '  Farewell '  —  and 
let  the  trace  it  shall  leave  tell  when  we  shall  meet  again." 

The  words  died  on  Otto's  lips.  He  could  not  fathom  the 
lightning  change  which  had  come  over  her.  With  mingled 
sadness  and  passion  he  gazed  upon  the  lovely  face,  so  pale  and 
cold. 

"  Let  us  not  part  thus,"  he  stammered. 

Stephania  had  risen  abruptly,  shaking  herself  free  of  his 
kneeling  form. 

"  What  is  it  all  to  lead  to  ?  "  she  questioned. 

Otto  rose  slowly  to  his  feet.  Reeling  as  if  stunned  by  a  blow, 
he  staggered  after  her. 

"  Do  not  leave  me  thus,"  he  begged  with  outstretched  arms. 

Stephania  started  away  from  him,  as  if  hi  terror. 

"  Do  not  touch  me,  —  as  you  are  a  man  —  " 

Otto's  hand  went  to  his  head.  Was  he  waking  ?  Was  he 
dreaming  ?  Was  this  the  same  woman  who  had  but  a  moment 
ago  — 

He  had  not  time  to  think  out  the  thought. 

He  felt  his  neck  encircled  by  an  airy  form  and  arms,  and  lips 
whose  sweetness  made  his  senses  reel  were  breathlessly  pressed 
upon  his  own. 

But  for  an  evanescent  instant  the  sensation  endured. 

A  voice  whispered  low:  "  Otto!  " 

When  he  tried  to  embrace  the  mocking  phantom  he  grasped 
the  empty  air. 

He  rushed  madly  forward,  but  at  this  instant  there  arose 
a  wild  uproar  and  clamour  around  him.  The  silver  moon  on 

247 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

the  fountain  burst  into  a  blaze  of  whirling  light,  which  illumined 
the  whole  grotto.  The  shrill  summons  of  a  bell  was  to  be  heard 
as  from  the  depths  of  the  fountain,  and  suddenly  the  verdant 
precincts  were  crowded  with  a  most  extraordinary  company, 
shouting,  hooting,  laughing,  yelling,  and  waving  torches. 
Satyrs, nymphs,  fauns,  and  all  varieties  of  sylvan  deities  poured 
out  of  every  nook  and  cranny  by  which  there  was  an  entrance, 
all  shrieking  execration  on  the  profaner  of  the  sacred  solitudes 
and  brandishing  sundry  weapons  appropriate  to  their  qualities. 
The  satyrs  wielded  their  crooked  staves,  the  fauns  their  stiff 
pine-wreaths,  the  nymphs  their  branches  of  oak,  and  a  loud 
clamour  arose.  But  by  far  the  most  formidable  personages  were 
a  number  of  shepherds  with  huge  boar-spears,  who  made 
their  appearance  on  every  side. 

"  Pan !  Pan !  "  shouted  a  hundred  voices.  "  Come  and 
judge  the  mortal  who  has  dared  to  profane  thy  solitudes. 
Echo  —  where  is  Pan  ?  " 

Distant  and  f aint  the  cry  came  back : 

"Pan!     Where  is  Pan?" 

For  a  moment  Otto  stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  believing  him 
self  hi  all  truth  surrounded  by  the  rural  gods  of  antiquity. 
He  stared  at  the  scene  before  him  as  on  some  strange  sorcery. 
But  suddenly  a  suspicion  rushed  upon  him  that  he  was  be 
trayed,  either  to  be  made  the  jest  of  a  company  of  carnival's 
revellers,  or,  perhaps,  the  object  of  vengeance  of  the  Senator 
of  Rome. 

Gazing  round  with  a  quick  fear  in  his  heart,  at  finding  him 
self  thus  completely  surrounded,  and  meditating  whether  to 
attempt  a  forcible  escape,  he  was  startled  by  the  shrill  shriek 
of  sylvan  pipes  and  attended  by  a  riotous  company  of  satyrs, 
Pan  on  his  goat-legs  hobbled  into  the  grotto,  the  satyrs  playing 
a  wild  march  on  their  oaken  reeds. 

"  Silence !  Where  is  the  guilty  nymph  who  has  lured  the 
mortal  hither  ?  "  shouted  the  sylvan  god. 

248 


THE   GROTTOS   OF   EGERIA 

"  Egeria !     Egeria !  "  resounded  numerous  accusing  voices. 

"  At  thine  old  tricks  again  luring  wisdom  whither  it  should 
least  come  ?  "  questioned  Pan,  severely.  "  Yes,  hide  thyself 
in  thy  blushing  waves!  But  the  mortal,  —  where  is  he  ?  " 

"  Here !  Here !  "  exclaimed  the  nymphs  with  one  voice. 
"  Had  it  been  old  Silenus  or  one  of  his  satyrs,  —  we  had  not 
wondered." 

"  The  King!  the  King!  "  resounded  on  all  sides  amidst  a 
general  outburst  of  laughter. 

Otto  became  more  and  more  convinced  that  the  scene  had 
been  enacted  to  mock  him,  and  though  he  did  not  understand 
the  drift  of  their  purpose,  at  which  Stephania  had  doubtlessly 
connived,  a  cold  hand  seemed  to  clutch  his  heart. 

"  In  very  truth,  you  have  the  laughing  side  of  the  jest,"  he 
turned  to  the  Sylvan  god.  "  But  if  you  will  confront  me  with 
the  nymph,  I  will  prove  that  at  least  we  ought  to  share  in  equal 
punishment,"  Otto  concluded  his  defence,  endeavouring  to 
make  the  best  of  his  dangerous  position. 

"  This  shall  not  be !  "  exclaimed  a  nymph  near  by.  "  Bring 
him  along  and  our  queen  shall  judge  him." 

Ere  Otto  could  give  vent  to  remonstrance,  he  found  himself 
hemmed  in  by  the  shepherds  with  their  spears.  His  doubts 
as  to  the  ultimate  purpose  of  the  revellers  seemed  now  to  call 
for  some  imperative  decision,  but  while  he  remembered  the 
dismal  legends  of  these  haunts,  his  lips  still  tingled  with  the 
magic  fire  of  Stephania 's  kiss  and  it  seemed  impossible  to  him 
that  she  could  really  mean  to  harm  him.  Still  he  had  grave 
misgivings,  when  suddenly  a  mocking  voice  saluted  him  and 
into  the  cave  strode  Johannes  Crescentius,  Senator  of  Rome,  - 
apparently  from  the  valley  without,  a  smiling  look  of  welcome 
on  his  face. 

"  Fear  nothing,  King  Otto,"  he  said  jovially.  "  Your  sen 
tence  shall  not  be  too  severe.  Your  forfeit  shall  be  light,  if 
you  will  but  discover  and  point  out  to  us  the  nymph  who 

249 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

usurped  the  part  of  Egeria,  that  we  may  further  address  our 
selves  to  her  for  her  reprehensible  conduct." 

The  feelings  with  which  Otto  listened  to  this  beguiling  and 
perhaps  perfidious  statement  may  be  imagined.  But  he  re 
plied  with  great  presence  of  mind. 

"  It  were  a  vain  effort  indeed  to  recognize  one  nymph  from 
another  in  the  gloom.  Lead  on  then,  since  it  is  the  Senator  of 
Rome  who  guarantees  my  immunity  from  the  fate  of 
Orpheus." 

Marching  like  a  prisoner  of  war  and  surrounded  by  the 
shepherd  spearmen,  Otto  affected  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of 
the  jest  and  suffered  himself  quietly  to  be  bound  with  chains 
of  ivy  which  the  least  effort  could  snap  asunder.  The  moment 
he  stepped  forth  from  the  grotto  his  path  was  beset  by  a  multi 
tude  of  the  most  extraordinary  phantoms.  The  surrounding 
woods  teemed  with  the  wildest  excrescences  of  pagan  worship ; 
statues  took  lif e ;  every  tree  yielded  its  sleeping  Dryad ;  strange 
melodies  resounded  in  every  direction;  Nayades  rose  in  the 
stream  and  laughingly  showered  their  spray  upon  him.  With 
a  cheerful  hunting  blast  Diana  and  her  huntresses  appeared 
on  an  overhanging  rock  and  darted  blunt  arrows  with  gilded 
heads  at  him,  until  he  arrived  at  an  avenue  of  lofty  elms,  whose 
overarching  branches,  filigreed  by  the  crimson  after-glow  of 
departing  day,  resembled  the  interior  of  a  Gothic  cathedral 
and  formed  a  natural  hall  of  audience  fit  for  the  rural  divinities. 
Bosquets  of  orange  trees,  whose  ivory  tinted  blossoms  gleamed 
like  huge  pearls  out  of  the  dark  green  of  the  foliage,  wafted  an 
inexpressibly  sweet  perfume  on  the  air. 

The  vista  terminated  in  an  open,  semi-circular  court,  sur 
rounded  by  terraces  of  richest  emerald  hue,  in  the  midst  of 
which  rose  an  improvised  throne.  The  rising  moon  shone 
upon  it  with  a  light,  like  that  of  a  rayless  sun,  and  Otto  dis 
covered  that  the  terraces  were  thronged  with  a  splendid  court, 
assembled  round  a  woman  who  occupied  the  throne. 

25® 


THE    GROTTOS    OF   EGERIA 

As  the  prisoner  approached,  environed  by  his  grotesque 
captors,  laughter  as  inextinguishable  as  that  which  shook  the 
ancient  gods  of  Olympus  on  a  similar  occasion,  resounded 
among  the  occupants  of  the  terrace.  Continuing  his  forced 
advance,  Otto  discovered  with  a  strange  beating  of  the  heart 
in  the  splendidly  attired  queen,  Stephania,  the  wife  of  Cres- 
centius. 

A  bodice  of  silver-tissue  confined  her  matchless  form, 
which  with  every  heave  of  her  bosom  threw  iridescent  gleams, 
and  a  diadem  which  shone  as  with  stars,  so  bright  were  its 
jewels,  flashed  upon  her  brow. 

She  looked  a  queen  indeed,  and  but  for  the  ivory  pallor  of  her 
face  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  guess  that  she  was  in  any 
way  concerned  with  the  object  of  the  strange  pageant,  which 
now  approached  her  throne. 

The  sphinx-like  countenance  of  the  Senator  of  Rome  seemed 
to  evince  no  very  great  enthusiasm  in  the  frolic;  the  invited 
guests  appeared  not  to  know  how  to  look,  and  took  their  cue 
from  the  Lord  of  Castel  San  Angelo. 

When  Otto  was  at  last  brought  face  to  face  with  his  fair 
judge,  his  own  pallor  equalled  that  of  Stephania,  and  both 
resembled  rather  two  marble  statues  than  beings  of  flesh  and 
blood.  Stephania's  lips  were  tightly  compressed,  and  when 
Pan  recited  his  accusation,  complaining  of  an  attempt  to  pro 
fane  his  solitudes  and  to  misguide  one  of  his  chastest  nymphs, 
so  far  from  overwhelming  the  culprit  with  the  laughing 
raillery  of  which  she  was  mistress  and  an  outburst  of  which  all 
seemed  to  expect,  Stephania  was  silent  and  kept  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  ground,  as  if  she  feared  to  raise  them  and  to  meet 
Otto's  burning  gaze. 

"  Answer,  King  of  the  Germans,"  urged  Crescentius  with 
a  smile,  "  else  you  are  lost !  " 

"  The  charges  are  too  vague,"  Otto  replied.  "  Let  Pan,  if 
he  has  any  witness,  of  what  has  happened,  allege  particulars  — 

251 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

and  if  he  does  —  by  his  crooked  staff,  even  my  accusers  shall 
acquit  me  without  denial  on  my  part." 

General  mutterings  and  suppressed  laughter  followed  this 
singular  defence,  during  which  Stephania's  countenance  took 
all  the  pallid  tints,  which  the  return  of  his  consciousness  and 
dignity  had  chased  from  Otto's  cheeks. 

But  she  did  not  think  it  wise  to  prolong  the  scene. 

"  Since  the  august  offender,"  she  said  hastily  and  without 
lifting  her  long  silken  lashes,  "  cannot  discover  among  my 
retinue  the  nymph  who  enticed  him  into  the  grotto,  I  pronounce 
this  sentence  upon  him:  '  Let  his  ignorance  be  perpetual.'  " 

Then  she  invited  him  to  a  seat  in  the  circle  over  which  she 
presided  and  her  graciousness  obviously  caused  Otto's  spirits 
to  rise,  for,  starting  up,  as  it  were,  into  new  existence  at  the 
word,  he  took  his  station  in  a  manner  which  enabled  him  to 
see  Stephania's  face  and  her  glorious  eyes. 

At  the  beck  of  her  hand  there  now  approached  a  band  of 
musicians  and  the  effect  of  their  harmonies  beneath  the  hushed 
and  now  star-resplendent  skies  was  inexpressibly  delicious.  The 
dreams  of  Elysium  seemed  to  be  realized.  These  indeed  seemed 
to  be  the  happy  fields,  in  the  atmosphere  of  which  the  de 
lighted  spirit  was  consoled  for  every  woe,  and  as  Otto  almost 
unwittingly  gazed  upon  the  woman  before  him,  so  passionately 
loved  and  to  him  lost  for  ever ;  as  he  marked  the  languor  and 
melancholy  which  had  stolen  over  her  countenance,  he  could 
hardly  restrain  himself  from  throwing  himself  and  all  he  called 
his,  at  her  feet. 

Emperor  and  king  though  he  was,  —  the  one  jewel  he 
craved  lay  beyond  the  confines  of  his  dominion. 

After  the  conclusion  of  the  serenade,  the  nymphs  of  Ste 
phania's  retinue  showered  their  flowers  upon  the  sylvan  gods, 
who  eagerly  scrambled  over  them,  when  Stephania  started  up, 
as  from  a  dream. 

"  How  is  this  ?  "  she  hurriedly  exclaimed.  "  I  still  hold 

252 


THE    GROTTOS    OF   EGERIA 

my  flowers  ?  And  you  are  all  matched  by  the  chances  of  the 
fragrant  blossoms  ?  But  King  Otto  is  likewise  without  his 
due  share,  and  so  it  would  seem  that  fate  would  have  him  my 
companion  at  the  collation  awaiting  us.  Therefore,  my  lords 
and  ladies,  link  hands  as  the  flow'ry  oracles  direct.  I  shall 
follow  last  with  my  exalted  guest." 

Otto  did  not  remark  the  quick  glance  which  flashed  between 
Crescentius  and  his  wife.  The  ladies  of  Stephania's  retinue 
immediately  conformed  to  the  expressed  wish  of  the  hostess 
by  taking  the  arms  of  the  cavaliers  who  had  chanced  upon 
their  flowers. 

A  number  of  pages,  beautiful  as  cupids,  lighted  the  way  with 
torches  which  flamed  with  a  perfumed  lustre,  and  the  proces 
sion  moved  anew  towards  the  grotto,  where,  during  their 
absence,  a  repast  had  been  spread.  But  the  last  couple  had 
preceded  them  some  twenty  paces,  ere  Stephania,  without 
raising  her  eyes,  took  Otto's  motionless  arm. 

The  memory  of  all  that  had  passed,  a  natural  feeling  of 
embarrassment  on  both  sides,  prolonged  the  silence  between 
them.  Stephania  doubtlessly  fathomed  his  thoughts,  for  she 
smiled  with  a  degree  of  timidity  not  unmingled  with  doubt, 
as  she  broke  the  silence. 

The  question,  though  softly  spoken,  came  swift  as  a  dart 
and  equally  unexpected. 

"  Have  you  ever  loved,  King  Otto  ?  " 

Otto  looked  up  with  a  start  into  her  radiant  face. 

He  had  anticipated  some  veiled  rebuke  for  his  own  strange 
conduct,  anything,  —  not  this. 

He  breathed  hard,  then  he  replied: 

"  Until  I  came  to  Rome,  I  never  gazed  on  beauty  that  won 
from  me  more  than  the  applause  of  the  eye,  which  a  statue  or  a 
painting,  equally  beautiful,  might  have  claimed." 

She  nodded  dreamily. 

"  I  have  heard  it  said  that  the  blue-eyed,  sunny-haired 

253 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

maidens  of  your  native  North  make  us  Romans  appear  poor 
in  your  sight!  " 

"  Not  so!  The  red  rose  is  not  discarded  for  the  white.  The 
contrast  only  heightens  the  beauty." 

"  I  have  heard  it  said,"  Stephania  continued,  choosing  a 
circuitous  path  instead  of  the  direct  one  her  guests  had  taken, 
"  that  you  Teutons  have  ideals  even,  while  you  starve  on  bread 
and  water.  And  I  have  been  told  that,  were  you  permitted  to 
choose  for  your  life's  companion  the  most  beautiful  woman  on 
earth,  you  would  hie  yourselves  into  the  gray  ages  of  the  world's 
dawn  for  the  realization  of  your  dreams.  Has  your  ideal  been 
realized,  since  you  have  established  your  residence  in  Rome, 
King  Otto  ?  " 

There  was  a  brief  pause,  then  he  replied,  looking  straight 
ahead : 

"  Love  comes  more  stealthily  than  light,  of  which  even  the 
dark  cypresses  are  enamoured  in  your  Italian  noondays." 

"  You  evade  my  question." 

"  What  would  you  have  me  say  ?  " 

She  gave  him  a  quick  glance,  which  set  his  pulses  to  throbbing 
wildly  and  sent  the  hot  blood  seething  through  his  veins. 

"  Is  your  heart  free,  King  Otto?  " 

A  drear  sense  of  desolation  and  loneliness  came  over  the 
youth. 

"  Free,"  he  replied  almost  inaudibly. 

She  gave  a  little,  nervous  laugh. 

"  But  how  know  you  that,  surrounded  by  such  loveliness, 
as  that  which  you  have  this  very  night  witnessed  hi  my  circle, 
your  hour  may  not  strike  at  last  ?  " 

Otto  raised  his  eyes  to  those  of  the  woman  by  his  side. 

"  Fair  lady,  beautiful  as  Love's  oracle  itself,  my  heart  is  in 
little  danger  even  from  your  fairest  satellites.  But  mistake 
not  my  meaning.  I  am  not  insusceptible  to  the  fever  of  the 
Gods!  Love  I  have  sought  under  all  forms  and  guises!  And 

254 


THE    GROTTOS    OF    EGERIA 

if  I  found  it  not,  if  I  have  listened  to  its  richest  eloquence  as 
to  some  song  in  a  foreign  tongue,  which  my  heart  understood 
not,  —  it  is  not  that  I  have  lacked  the  soul  for  love.  Love  I 
found  not,  though  phantoms  I  have  eagerly  chased  in  this 
troubled  dream  of  life.  What  avails  it,  to  contend  with  one's 
destiny  ?  And  this  is  mine !  " 

Stephania  laughed. 

"  You  speak  like  some  hoary  anchorite  from  the  Thebaide. 
Truly,  now  I  begin  to  understand,  why  your  chroniclers  call 
you  the  '  Wonder-child  of  the  World.'  Lover,  idealist,  and 
cynic  in  one!  " 

"  Nay  —  you  wrong  me !  Cynic  I  am  not!  My  mother  was 
a  princess  of  Greece.  The  fairest  woman  my  eyes  ever  gazed 
upon  —  save  one !  She  died  in  her  youth  and  beauty,  following 
my  father,  the  emperor,  into  his  early  grave.  I  was  left  alone 
in  the  world,  alone  with  the  monks,  alone  hi  the  great  gloom 
of  our  tall  and  spectral  pines !  The  monks  understood  not  my 
craving  for  the  sun  and  the  blue  skies.  The  whiter  snows  of 
Thuringia  chilled  my  heart  and  froze  my  soul!  I  longed  for 
Rome  —  I  craved  for  the  South.  My  dead  mother's  blood 
flows  hi  my  veins.  Hither  I  came,  braving  the  avalanches 
and  the  fever  and  the  wrath  of  the  electors,  I  came,  once  more 
to  challenge  the  phantoms  of  the  past  from  their  long  forgotten 
tombs,  to  make  Rome  —  what  once  she  was  —  the  capital  of 
the  earth.  Rome's  dream  is  Eternity!  " 

Stephania  listened  in  silence  and  with  downcast  eyes. 

Never  had  the  ear  of  the  beautiful  Roman  heard  words  like 
these.  The  illiteracy,  vileness,  and  depravity  of  her  own 
countrymen  never  perhaps  presented  itself  to  her  in  so  glaring 
a  contrast,  as  when  thrown  into  comparison  with  the  ideal  son 
of  the  Empress  Theophano  and  Otto  II,  of  Saracenic  renown. 
His  words  were  like  some  strange  music,  which  flatters  the 
senses,  that  try  in  vain  to  retain  their  harmonies. 

There  was  a  pause  during  which  neither  spoke. 

255 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

Otto  thought  he  felt  the  soft  pressure  of  Stephania's  arm 
against  his  own. 

"  You  spoke  of  one  who  alone  might  challenge  the  dead 
empress  in  point  of  fairness,"  the  woman  spoke  at  last  and  her 
voice  betrayed  an  emotion  which  she  vainly  strove  to  conceal. 
"  Who  is  that  one  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Theophano's  beauty  was  renowned.  Even  our  poets  sing 
of  her." 

"  I  will  tell  you  at  some  other  time." 

"  Tell  me  now!  " 

"  We  are  approaching  the  grotto.    Your  guests  are  waiting." 

"Tell  me  now!  " 

"  Crescentius  is  expecting  us.  He  will  be  wondering  at  our 
tardiness." 

"  Tell  me  now!  " 

Otto  breathed  hard. 

"  Oh,  why  do  you  ask,  Stephania,  why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Who  is  the  woman  ?  " 

The  question  fell  huskily  from  her  lips. 

The  answer  came,  soft  as  a  zephyr  that  dies  as  it  passes : 

"  Stephania!  " 

Quickening  their  steps  they  reached  the  grotto,  without 
daring  to  face  each  other.  The  woman's  heart  throbbed  as 
impetuously  as  that  of  the  youth,  as  they  found  themselves 
at  the  entrance  of  the  Grotto  of  Egeria  in  a  blaze  of  light, 
emanating  from  innumerable  torches  artfully  arranged  among 
the  stalactites,  which  diffused  brilliant  irradiations.  The 
sumptuous  dresses  of  the  nobles  and  barons  blazed  into  view; 
the  spray  from  the  fountain  leaped  up  to  a  great  height  and 
descended  in  showers  of  liquid  jewels  of  iridescent  hues. 

A  collation  of  fruits  and  wines  wooed  the  appetite  of  the 
guests  on  every  hand.  Sweet  harmonies  floated  from  the 
adjoining  groves,  and,  amidst  a  general  buzz  of  delight  and 

256 


THE    GROTTOS    OF   EGERIA 

admiration,  Stephania  took  her  seat  at  the  festal  board  between 
the  Senator  of  Rome  and  the  German  king. 

The  flower  of  beauty,  wit  and  magnificence  of  the  Senator's 
Roman  court  had  been  culled  to  grace  this  festival,  for  there 
was  no  one  present,  who  was  not  remarked  for  at  least  one  of 
these  attributes,  some  even  by  the  union  of  all.  The  most 
beautiful  women  of  Rome  surrounded  the  consort  of  the 
Senator,  who  outshone  them  all.  Even  envy  could  not  deny 
her  the  crown. 

Nevertheless,  and  for  the  first  time,  perhaps,  Stephania 
seemed  to  misdoubt  the  supremacy  and  power  of  her  great 
beauty,  and  while  she  affected  being  absorbed  hi  other  matters, 
her  eye  watched  with  devouring  anxiety  every  glance  of  her 
exalted  guest,  whose  feverish  vivaciousness  betrayed  to  her 
his  inmost  thoughts. 

The  Senator's  countenance  was  that  of  the  Sphinx  of  the 
desert.  He  appeared  neither  to  see  nor  to  hear. 

Otto  meanwhile,  in  order  to  remove  from  his  path  the  terrible 
temptation  which  he  felt  growing  with  every  instant,  in  order 
to  divert  Eckhardt's  attention,  who  he  instinctively  felt  was 
watching  his  every  gesture,  and  to  stifle  any  possible  sus 
picions,  which  Crescentius  might  entertain,  affected  to  be 
struck  with  the  appearance  of  one  of  Stephania's  ladies,  who 
resembled  her  in  stature  and  in  the  colour  of  her  hair.  He 
intentionally  mistook  her  for  the  fairy  in  the  grotto,  laughingly 
challenging  her  acquaintance,  which  she  as  merrily  denied, 
declaring  herself  to  be  the  wife  of  one  of  the  barons  present. 
But  Otto  would  not  be  convinced  and  attached  himself  to  her 
with  a  zeal,  which  brought  on  both  many  pointed  jests  on  the 
part  of  the  assembled  revellers. 

Stephania  immediately  observed  the  ruse,  but  as  her  eye  met 
that  of  the  Senator,  an  unaccountable  terror  seized  her.  She 
turned  away  and  pretended  to  join  her  guests  in  their  merri 
ment.  Among  those  present  were  some  of  the  most 

257 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

imaginative  and  prolific  minds  of  an  age,  otherwise  dark 
and  illiterate,  yet  the  brilliant  play  and  coruscations  of 
Stephania's  wit,  the  depth  of  some  of  the  glittering  remarks 
which  fell  from  her  lips,  were  not  surpassed  by  any.  At  times 
she  exhibited  a  tone  of  recklessness  almost  bordering  on  de 
fiance  and  mockery,  the  lightning's  power  to  scorch  as  well  as 
to  illumine,  but  when  relapsing  into  what  appeared  her  more 
natural  mood,  it  was  scarcely  possible  to  resist  the  grace  and 
seductiveness  of  her  manner.  Even  the  doctrines,  which  half 
in  gayety,  half  in  haughty  acceptance  of  the  character  assigned 
to  her  on  this  evening,  she  promulgated,  full  of  poetical  epi 
cureanism,  fell  with  so  sweet  a  harmony  from  her  lips,  that 
saints  could  not  have  wished  them  mended. 

Otto,  meanwhile,  continued  to  play  his  self-assigned  part, 
but  he  lost  not  a  single  word  or  gesture  of  Stephania  and  his 
fervour  towards  his  chosen  partner  rose  in  proportion  with 
Stephania's  gayety.  But  he  did  not  fail  to  observe  that  her 
siren-smile  was  directed  towards  himself  and  his  soul  drank 
in  the  beams  of  her  beauty,  as  the  palm-tree  absorbs  the  fervid 
suns  of  Africa,  motionless  with  delight. 

While  gayety  and  convivial  enjoyment  seemed  at  their 
height,  Eckhardt  strode  from  the  grotto,  unobserved  by  the 
revellers  and  entered  a  secluded  path  leading  into  the  remoter 
regions  of  the  park.  Otto's  predilection  for  the  wife  of  the 
Senator  of  Rome  had  escaped  him  as  little  as  had  her  own 
seeming  coquetry,  and  he  had  looked  on  in  silence,  until, 
seized  with  profound  disgust,  he  could  bear  it  no  longer. 

What  he  had  always  feared  was  coming  to  pass. 

When  the  Romans  could  no  longer  vanquish  their  foes  on 
the  field  of  battle,  they  destroyed  them  with  their  women. 

The  gardens  which  Eckhardt  traversed  resembled  the 
fabled  treasure-house  of  Aladdin.  Every  tree  glistened  with 
sparkling  clusters  of  red,  blue  and  green  lights,  every  flower 
bed  was  bordered  with  lines  and  circles  of  iridescent  globes, 

258 


THE   GROTTOS   OF   EGERIA 

and  the  fountains  tossed  up  spiral  columns  of  amber,  rose 
and  amethyst  spray  against  the  transparent  azure  of  the 
summer  skies,  in  which  a  lustrous  golden  moon  shone  full. 

But  a  madness  seemed  suddenly  to  have  seized  the  revellers. 

No  one  knew  whither  Crescentius  had  gone. 

No  one  knew  who  was  a  dancer,  a  flute-player,  a  noble. 

Satyrs  and  fauns  fell  to  chasing  nymphs  with  shouting. 
Everywhere  laughter  and  shouts  were  heard,  whispers  and 
panting  breaths.  Darkness  covered  certain  parts  of  the 
groves.  Truly  it  was  a  long  time,  since  anything  similar  had 
been  seen  hi  Rome. 

Roused  and  intoxicated  by  the  contamination,  the  fever  had 
at  last  seized  Otto.  Rushing  into  the  forest,  he  ran  with  the 
others.  New  flocks  of  nymphs  swarmed  round  him  every 
moment.  Seeing  at  last  a  band  of  maidens  led  by  one  arrayed 
as  Diana,  he  sprang  to  it,  intending  to  scrutinize  the  goddess 
more  closely.  They  encircled  him  hi  a  mad  whirl,  and, evidently 
bent  upon  making  him  follow,  rushed  away  the  next  moment 
like  a  herd  of  deer.  But  he  stood  rooted  to  the  spot  with  wildly 
beating  heart. 

A  great  yearning,  such  as  he  had  never  felt  before,  seized 
him  at  that  moment  and  the  love  for  Stephania  rushed  to  his 
heart  as  a  tremendous  tidal  wave.  Never  had  she  seemed  to 
him  so  pure,  so  dear,  so  beloved,  as  in  that  forest  of  frenzied 
madness.  A  moment  before  he  had  himself  wished  to  drink 
of  that  cup,  which  drowned  past  and  present;  now  he  was 
seized  with  repugnance  and  remorse.  He  felt  stifled  in  this 
unholy  air;  his  eyes  sought  the  stars,  glimmering  through 
the  interstices  of  the  interwoven  branches. 

A  shadow  fell  across  his  path. 

He  turned.    Before  him  stood  Eckhardt,  the  Margrave. 

"  I  have  seen  and  heard,"  he  spoke  in  response  to  Otto's 
questioning  gaze.  "  King  of  the  Germans,  I  have  enough  of 
Rome,  enough  of  feasts,  enough  of  conquests.  I  am  stifling. 

259 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

I  cannot  breathe  in  this  accursed  air.  Command  the  return  be 
yond  the  Alps.  On  these  siren  rocks  your  ship  will  founder! 
Rome  is  no  place  for  you!  " 

Otto  stared  at  the  man  as  if  he  feared  he  had  lost  his  senses. 

"  King  of  the  Germans,"  Eckhardt  continued,  "  on  my 
knees  I  entreat  you  —  at  the  risk  of  your  displeasure,  —  return 
beyond  the  Alps!  See  what  has  become  of  you!  See  what  a 
woman  has  made  of  you,  you,  the  son  of  the  vanquisher  of  the 
Saracens!  " 

He  stretched  out  his  arms  entreatingly,  as  if  to  lead  him 
away. 

Otto  covered  his  face  with  both  hands. 

"  And  I  love  only  her  in  the  wide,  wide  world,"  he  muttered. 

At  this  juncture  a  light,  elastic  step  resounded  on  the  gravel 
path. 

Benilo  stepped  into  the  clearing. 

"  Stephania  awaits  the  king  in  the  pavillion." 

Eckhardt  laid  his  hands  on  Otto's  shoulders,  straining  his 
eyes  in  silent  entreaty  into  those  of  the  King. 

"  Do  not  go !  "  he  begged. 

Otto  winced,  but  the  presence  of  Benilo  caused  him  to  shake 
himself  free  of  the  Margrave's  restraining  hand. 

"  Stephania  is  waiting,"  he  stammered. 

"  Then  you  will  not  grant  my  request  ?  "  Eckhardt  spoke 
with  quivering  voice. 

"  In  Rome  we  live,  —  in  Rome  we  die !  " 

Taking  Benilo's  arm  he  hastened  away,  leaving  Eckhardt 
to  ponder  over  his  prophetic  words. 

For  a  moment  the  Margrave  remained,  straining  his  gaze 
after  Otto's  retreating  form. 

His  heart  was  heavy,  —  heavy  to  breaking.  Dared  he  enter 
the  arena  against  the  Sorceress  of  Rome  ?  He  laughed  aloud. 

There  are  moments  when  the  tragedy  of  our  own  life  is 
almost  amusing. 

260 


CHAPTER  VI 


BEYOND    THE    GRAVE 

CKHARDT  turned  to  go,  but  he 
had  barely  moved,  when,  as  if 
risen  from  the  earth,  there 
stood  before  him  the  tall,  veiled 
form  of  a  woman,  who  whis 
pered,  flooding  his  face  with  her 
burning  breath: 

"  I   love   you !     Come !     No 
one  will  see  us!  " 

Eckhardt  trembled  hi  every 
limb.  He  would  have  known  that  voice,  even  if  it  had  spoken 
to  him  from  the  depths  of  the  grave.  The  heavy  veil  which 
shrouded  the  woman's  face  prevented  him  from  scrutinizing 
her  features. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  stammered,  just  to  say  something. 
Swift  as  thought  she  threw  her  arms  round  him,  but  to 
recede  as  swiftly. 

"  Hurry!    See  how  lonely  it  is!    I  love  you!    Come!  " 
"  Who  are  you  ?  " 
"  Can  you  not  guess  ?  " 

He  stretched  out  his  arms  toward  her,  but  she  gambolled 
before  him,  as  a  butterfly,  flitting  from  flower  to  flower. 

"Night  of  Love  —  night  of  madness,"  she  whispered. 
"  To-night,  if  you  but  will  it,  the  secret  is  yours!  " 

Her  voice  thrilled  him  through  and  through.  The 
perfume  of  the  Poppy-flower  sank  benumbing  into 
his  heart.  It  was  her  voice,  —  it  was  her  form,  —  was 

261 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

it  but  a  mocking  phantom,  —  what  was  it  ?  Again  she 
approached  him. 

"  Lift  the  veil!  "  she  spoke  in  a  voice  of  command. 

With  trembling  hand  he  started  to  obey,  when  the  leaves  of 
the  nearest  myrtle-bush  began  to  rustle. 

Eckhardt  heard  nothing,  saw  nothing. 

As  Benilo  stepped  into  the  moonlight,  the  apparition  vanished 
like  a  dream  phantom,  but  from  the  distance  her  laugh  was 
heard,  strange  hi  some  way,  and  ominous. 

Eckhardt  rushed  after  the  fading  vision  like  a  madman. 

Would  it  mock  him  for  ever,  wherever  he  was,  wherever  he 
went  ? 

How  long  he  had  followed  it,  in  headlong,  breathless  pursuit, 
as  on  that  fateful  eve,  when  it  had  lured  him  from  the  altars  of 
Christ,  he  knew  not.  When  he  at  last  desisted  from  the  mad 
and  fruitless  chase,  he  found  himself  at  the  base  of  the  Capito- 
line  Hill.  Here  were  scattered  the  ruins  of  the  old  Mamertine 
prisons,  once  a  series  of  cells  rising  in  stages  against  the  rock 
to  a  considerable  height.  Here  were  the  baths  of  Mamertius, 
where  Jugurtha,  the  Numidian,  was  starved.  There  Simon  Bar 
Gioras,  the  Jew,  was  strangled,  he,  who  to  the  last  maintained 
the  struggle  against  the  victorious  son  of  Vespasian.  In  the 
cell  to  the  right  Appius  Claudius,  the  Triumvir,  was  said  to  have 
committed  suicide.  Another  cell  reechoed  from  the  clangour 
of  the  chains  of  Simon  Petrus.  It  was  not  a  region  where  men 
tarried  long,  and  few  relished  the  fare  of  the  low  taverns,  which 
were  strung  along  the  gray  wall  of  Servius  Tullius.  For  weird 
and  dismal  wails  were  at  times  to  be  heard  in  clear  moonlight 
nights,  and  the  region  of  the  Capitoline  Hill,  cut  by  the  old 
Gemonian  stairs,  was  in  ill  repute,  as  in  the  days  of  Republican 
Rome. 

He  had  not  gone  very  far  when  he  found  himself  before 
the  entrance  of  a  cavern,  and  Eckhardt's  attention  was  caught 
by  a  strange  red  glow  as  from  some  fire  within.  As  he  gazed 

262 


BEYOND    THE    GRAVE 

it  died  out,  and  he  was  left  in  doubt,  whether  it  was  an  illusion 
of  his  imagination,  or  some  phenomenon  peculiar  to  the  spot. 
The  prisoners  of  the  Roman  state  were  no  longer  conveyed 
hither  for  safe-keeping,  but  confined  in  the  dismal  dungeons 
of  Torre  di  Nona  and  Corte  Savella.  The  glimmer  he  had  seen 
could  not  therefore  emanate  from  the  cell  of  some  unfortunate, 
here  awaiting  his  sentence.  Vainly  he  strained  his  gaze. 
All  was  darkness  again  within,  and  although  the  moon  was 
high  in  a  clear  sky,  set  with  innumerable  stars,  their  distant 
glimmer  could  not  penetrate  the  murky  depths. 

Eckhardt  waited  some  minutes  and  the  glimmer  reappeared. 
What  urged  him  onward  to  explore  the  cause  of  the  strange 
light  he  could  not  have  told.  Still  he  dared  not  venture  into 
the  gloom  without  the  aid  of  a  torch.  Quickly  resolved  he 
retraced  his  steps  towards  the  few  scattered  houses,  near  the 
ancient  wall,  entered  a  dimly  lighted,  evil-smelling  shop, 
purchased  torch  and  flints  and  returned  to  the  entrance  of 
the  cavern. 

After  lighting  his  torch  he  entered  slowly  and  carefully, 
marking  every  step  he  took  in  the  dust  and  sand,  which  covered 
the  ground  of  the  cave.  The  farther  he  advanced  the  more 
singular  grew  the  spectacle  which  greeted  his  gaze. 

The  cavern  was  of  great  extent,  composed  of  enormous 
masses  of  rocks,  seemingly  tossed  together  in  chaotic  confusion, 
and  glittering  all  over  in  the  blaze  of  innumerable  irradiations, 
as  with  serpents  of  coloured  light,  so  singularly  brilliant  and 
twisted  were  the  stalactites  which  clustered  within.  There 
was  one  rock,  in  which  a  strong  effort  of  the  imagination 
might  have  shaped  resemblance  to  a  crucifix.  Fastened  to 
this  by  an  iron  rivet,  a  chain  and  a  belt  round  his  waist,  lay 
the  form  of  a  man,  apparently  in  a  deadly  swoon,  as  if  ex 
hausted  from  the  struggle  against  the  massive  links.  Some 
embers  still  burned  near  the  prisoner  and  had  probably  been 
the  means  of  attracting  Eckhardt's  attention, 

263 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

Startled  by  the  strange  sight  which  encountered  his  gaze, 
Eckhardt  eagerly  surveyed  the  person  of  the  prisoner.  He 
appeared  a  man  who  had  passed  his  prime,  and  his  frame 
betokened  a  scholar  rather  than  an  athlete.  His  head  being 
averted,  Eckhardt  was  not  able  to  scan  his  features. 

At  first  Eckhardt  was  inclined  to  attribute  the  prisoner's 
plight  to  an  attack  by  outlaws  who  had  stripped  him,  and 
then,  to  secure  secrecy  and  immunity,  had  left  him  to  his 
fate.  But  a  second  consideration  staggered  this  presumption, 
for  as  he  raised  his  torch  above  the  man's  head,  he  discovered 
the  tonsure  which  proclaimed  him  a  monk,  and  what  bandit, 
ever  so  desperate,  would  perpetrate  a  deed,  which  would  consign 
his  soul  to  purgatory  for  ever  more  ?  Besides,  what  wealth 
had  a  friar  to  tempt  the  avidity  of  a  bravo  ? 

Vainly  puzzling  his  brain,  as  to  the  probable  authorship  of 
a  deed,  as  dark  as  the  identity  of  the  hapless  creature,  thus 
securely  fettered  to  the  stone,  he  looked  round.  There  was 
no  vestige  of  drink  or  food ;  perhaps  the  man  was  starved  and 
slowly  expiring  hi  the  last  throes  of  exhaustion.  His  breath 
came  in  rasping  gasps  and  the  short-cropped  raven-blue  hair 
slightly  tinged  with  gray  heightened  the  cadaverous  tints  of 
the  body,  which  was  of  the  colour  of  dried  parchment. 

The  sudden  flow  of  light,  which  flooded  his  eyes,  perhaps 
long  unaccustomed  thereto,  caused  the  prostrate  man  to  writhe 
and  to  start  from  his  swoon.  His  eyes,  deeply  sunk  in  their 
sockets,  and  flashing  a  strange  delirious  light,  stared  with  awe 
and  fear  into  the  flame  of  the  torch. 

But  no  sooner  had  he  encountered  Eckhardt's  gaze  than  he 
uttered  a  cry  of  dismay  and  would  have  relapsed  imto  his 
swoon,  had  not  the  Margrave  grasped  him  by  the  shoulder 
in  an  effort  to  support  the  weak,  tottering  body.  But  the  cry 
had  startled  him,  and  so  great  was  Eckhardt's  dismay,  that 
his  fingers  relaxed  their  hold  and  the  man  fell  back,  striking  his 
head  against  the  rock. 

264 


BEYOND   THE   GRAVE 

"  I  am  dying  —  fetch  me  some  water,"  he  begged  piteously 
and  Eckhardt  stepped  outside  of  the  cavern  and  filled  his  helmet 
from  a  well,  whose  crystal  stream  seemed  to  pour  from  the 
fissures  of  the  Tarpeian  rock.  This  he  carried  to  the  hapless 
wretch,  raising  his  head  and  holding  it  to  his  lips.  The  prisoner 
drank  greedily  and  stammered  his  thanks  in  a  manner  as  if 
his  tongue  had  swollen  too  big  for  his  mouth. 

There  was  a  breathless  silence,  then  Eckhardt  said: 

"  I  have  sought  you  long  —  everywhere.  How  came  you 
in  this  plight  ?  " 

The  monk  looked  up.    In  his  eyes  there  was  a  great  fear. 

"  Pity  —  pity!  "  he  muttered,  vainly  endeavouring  to  raise 
himself. 

Eckhardt's  stern  gaze  was  his  sole  reply. 

The  ensuing  silence  seemed  to  both  an  eternity. 

The  monk  could  not  bear  the  Margrave's  gaze,  and  had 
closed  his  eyes. 

"  What  of  Ginevra  ?  " 

Slowly  the  words  fell  from  Eckhardt's  lips. 

The  monk  groaned.  His  limbs  writhed  and  strained  against 
the  chains  that  fettered  him  to  the  rock.  But  he  made  no 
reply. 

"  What  of  Ginevra  ?  "  Eckhardt  repeated  inexorably. 

Still  there  came  no  answer. 

Eckhardt  stooped  over  the  prostrate  form  like  a  spirit  of 
vengeance  descended  from  on  high  and  so  fiercely  burned  his 
gaze  upon  the  monk  that  the  latter  vainly  endeavoured  to 
turn  away  his  face.  He  could  feel  those  eyes,  even  though  his 
own  were  closed. 

"  You  stand  in  the  shadow  of  death,"  Eckhardt  spoke, 
"  You  will  never  leave  this  cavern  alive !  Answer  briefly 
and  truthfully,  —  and  I  will  have  your  body  consigned  to 
consecrated  earth  and  masses  said  for  your  soul.  Remain 
obdurate  and  rot  where  you  lie,  till  the  trumpet  blast  of 

265 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

resurrection  day  chases  the  worms  from  their  loathsome 
feast!" 

The  dying  man  answered  with  a  groan. 

"  What  of  Ginevra  ?  "  Eckhardt  questioned  for  the  third 
time. 

The  monk  breathed  hard.  A  tremor  shook  his  limbs  as  he 
gasped : 

"  Ginevra  —  lives." 

Eckhardt's  hands  went  to  his  head.  He  closed  his  eyes  in 
mortal  agony  and  for  a  moment  nothing  but  his  heavy  breath 
ing  was  to  be  heard  in  the  cavern.  When  he  again  looked 
down  upon  the  prostrate  man,  he  saw  his  lips  turn  purple,  saw 
the  film  of  death  begin  to  cover  his  eyes.  How  much  there 
was  to  be  asked.  How  brief  the  time! 

"  You  chanted  the  Requiem  over  the  body  of  Ginevra,  know 
ing  her  to  be  among  the  living  ?  " 

The  monk  nodded  feebly. 

Eckhardt's  breath  came  hard.  His  breast  heaved,  as  if  it 
must  burst  and  his  hand  shook  so  violently  that  some  of  the 
hot  pitch  from  the  taper  struck  the  prisoner  on  the  shoulder. 
He  writhed  with  a  groan. 

"  What  prompted  the  hellish  deceit  ?  "  Eckhardt  continued. 
"  Did  she  not  have  my  love  ?  " 

The  monk  shook  his  head. 

"  It  was  not  enough.     It  was  not  enough!  " 

"  What  more  had  I  to  give  ?  " 

"  Marozia's  inheritance  —  the  emperor's  tomb !  " 

"  Marozia's  inheritance  ?  "  Eckhardt  repeated,  like  one  in  a 
dream.  "  The  emperor's  tomb  ?  What  madness  is  this  ? 
She  never  hinted  at  a  wish  unfulfilled." 

"  She  asked  you  never  to  lift  the  veil  from  her  past !  " 

The  monk's  words  fell  like  a  thunderbolt  on  Eckhardt's 
head. 

"  How  came  you  by  this  knowledge  ?  "  he  questioned  aghast. 

266 


BEYOND    THE    GRAVE 

"  Give  me  some  water  —  I  am  choking,"  gasped  the  monk. 

Again  Eckhardt  held  the  helmet  to  his  lips,  while  he  prayed 
that  the  spark  of  life  might  remain  long  enough  in  that  en 
feebled  body,  to  clear  the  mystery,  at  whose  brink  he  stood. 

The  monk  drank  greedily,  and  when  his  thirst  seemed 
appeased  the  water  ran  out  of  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  He 
again  relapsed  into  a  swoon;  he  heard  Eckhardt's  questions, 
but  lacked  strength  to  answer. 

Stooping  over  him,  Eckhardt  grasped  him  by  the  shoulder 
and  shook  him  mercilessly.  He  must  not  die,  until  he  knew 
all. 

A  terrible  certainty  flashed  through  his  mind. 

This  monk  knew  what  was  to  him  a  seven  times  sealed  book. 

He  had  repeated  to  him  Ginevra's  wish,  —  now,  nor  heaven 
nor  hell  should  turn  him  from  his  path. 

"  I  thought,  —  Marozia's  descendants  were  all  dead,"  he 
said,  fear  and  hesitation  in  his  tones. 

The  monk  feebly  shook  his  head. 

"  One  lives,  —  the  deadliest  of  the  flock." 

A  chill  as  of  death  seemed  to  benumb  Eckhardt's  limbs. 

"  One  lives,"  he  gasped.     "  Her  name  ?  " 

Delirium  seemed  to  have  seized  the  prostrate  wretch.  He 
mumbled  strange  words  while  his  ringers  were  digging  into 
the  sand,  as  if  he  were  preparing  his  own  grave. 

"  Her  name!  "  thundered  Eckhardt  into  the  monk's  ear. 

The  latter  raised  himself  straight  up  and  stared  at  the  Mar 
grave  with  dead,  expressionless  eyes. 

"  In  the  world,  Ginevra,  —  beyond  the  grave  —  Theodora!  " 

"  Theodora !  "     A  groan  broke  from  Eckhardt's  lips. 

"  And  is  this  her  work  ?  " 

He  pointed  to  the  monk's  chains,  and  the  iron  rivets  driven 
into  the  rocks. 

The  monk  shook  his  head.  The  spark  of  life  flickered  up 
once  more. 

267 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

"  Five  days  without  food,  —  without  water,  —  left  here  to 
perish  —  by  a  villain  —  whom  the  lightnings  of  heaven  may 
blast  —  the  betrayer  of  God  and  of  man,  —  I  am  dying,  — 
remember,  —  burial  —  masses  —  " 

The  monk  fell  back  with  a  gasp.  The  death-rattle  was  in 
his  throat. 

Eckhardt  knelt  by  his  side,  raised  his  head  and  tried  to  stem 
the  fleeting  tide  of  life. 

"  His  name !  His  name !  "  he  shrieked,  mad  with  fear, 
anguish  and  despair.  "  His  name !  Oh  God,  let  him  live  but 
long  enough  for  that,  —  his  name  ?  " 

It  was  too  late. 

The  spark  of  life  had  gone  out.  The  murderer  of  Gregory 
stood  before  a  higher  bar  of  judgment. 

There  was  a  long  silence  in  the  rock  caves  under  the  Ge- 
monian  Stairs.  Nothing  was  to  be  heard,  save  the  hard  breath 
ing  of  the  despairing  man.  He  saw  it  all  now,  —  all,  but  the 
instigator,  the  abettor  of  the  terrible  crime  against  him.  If 
Ginevra  was  indeed  the  last  link  in  that  long  chain  of  infamy, 
which  had  held  its  high  revels  in  Castel  San  Angelo  during  the 
past  decades,  she  could  never  hope  to  come  into  her  own  with 
out  some  potent  ally.  The  thought  lay  very  near,  that  she 
might  be  intriguing  in  this  very  hour  to  regain  the  lost  power 
of  Marozia.  But  a  second  consideration  at  least  staggered  this 
theory.  It  rather  seemed  as  if  the  man  on  whom  she  had  relied 
for  the  realization  of  her  terrible  ambition  had  deceived  her, 
after  he  had  made  her  his  own,  —  or  had  in  some  way  failed 
to  keep  his  pledge,  —  until,  in  the  endeavour  to  find  the  sup 
port  she  required,  she  had  sunk  from  the  arms  of  one  into 
those  of  another. 

A  wild  shriek  resounded  through  the  cavern. 

Eckhardt  trembled  at  the  sound  of  his  own  despair. 

Like  a  caged,  wild  beast  he  paced  up  and  down  in  the  dark 
ness. 

268 


BEYOND    THE    GRAVE 

The  torch  had  fallen  from  his  grasp  and  continued  to  glimmer 
on  the  sand. 

Had  it  lain  within  his  power  he  would  have  shaken  down 
the  mighty  rock  over  his  head  and  buried  himself  with  the 
hapless  victim  chained  to  the  stone. 

In  vain  he  tried  to  order  his  chaotic  thoughts. 

Monstrous  deception  she  had  practised  upon  him! 

All  her  endearments,  all  her  caresses,  her  kisses,  her  whisper 
ings  of  love,  —  were  they  but  the  threads  of  the  one  vast  fabric 
of  a  lie  ? 

It  seemed  too  monstrous  to  be  true ;  it  seemed  too  monstrous 
to  grasp! 

And  all  for  what  ? 

The  fleeting  phantom  of  dominion,  which  must  vanish  as 
it  came  —  unsatisfied. 

How  long  he  remained  thus,  he  knew  not.  His  torch  had 
well  nigh  burnt  down  when  at  length  he  roused  himself  from 
his  deadly  stupor.  Groping  his  way  to  the  entrance  of  the 
cave,  he  stepped  into  the  open. 

Like  one  dazed  he  returned  to  his  palace. 

But  he  could  not  sleep. 

Profound  were  the  emotions,  which  were  awakened  hi  his 
bosom,  as  he  set  foot  within  his  chamber.  Scenes  of  other 
days  arose  before  him  with  the  vividness  of  reality.  He  beheld 
himself  again  hi  the  full  vigour  of  manhood,  ardent,  impas 
sioned,  blessed  with  the  hand  of  the  woman  he  loved  and 
anticipating  a  cloudless  future.  He  beheld  her  as  she  was 
when  he  first  called  her  his  own,  young,  proud,  beautiful. 
Her  accents  were  those  of  endearment,  her  looks  tenderness 
and  love.  They  smote  him  now  like  a  poniard's  point  driven 
to  his  very  heart.  He  did  not  think  he  could  have  borne  a 
pang  so  keen  and  live. 

Why,  —  he  asked  in  despair  —  could  not  the  past  be  re 
called  or  for  ever  cancelled  ?  Why  could  not  men  live  their 

269 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

loves  over  again,  to  repair,  what  they  might  have  omitted, 
neglected  and  regain  their  lost  happiness  ? 

Pressing  his  hands  before  his  eyes,  he  tried  to  shut  out  the 
beautiful,  agonizing  vision. 

It  could  not  be  excluded. 

Staggering  towards  a  chair,  he  sank  upon  it,  a  prey  to 
unbearable  anguish.  Avenging  furies  beset  him  and  lashed 
him  with  whips  of  steel. 

He  could  not  rest.  He  strode  about  the  room.  He  even 
thought  of  quitting  the  house,  denouncing  himself  as  a  mad 
man  for  having  come  here  at  all.  But  where  was  he  to  go  ? 
He  must  endure  the  tortures.  Perhaps  they  would  subside. 
Little  hope  of  it. 

He  walked  to  the  fire-place.  The  air  of  autumn  was  chill 
without.  The  embers,  still  glowing  with  a  crimson  reflection, 
had  sunk  in  the  grate.  Aye  —  there  he  stood,  where  he  had 
stood  years  ago,  and  oh,  how  unlike  his  former  self!  How 
different  in  feeling!  Then  he  had  some  youth  left,  at  least, 
and  hope.  Now  he  was  crushed  by  the  weight  of  a  mystery 
which  haunted  him  night  and  day.  Could  he  but  quit  Rome ! 
Could  he  but  induce  the  king  to  return  beyond  the  Alps. 
Little  doubt,  that  under  the  immense  gray  sky,  which  formed 
so  fitting  a  cupola  for  his  grief,  his  soul  might  find  rest.  Here, 
with  the  feverish  pulses  of  life  beating  madly  round  him,  here, 
vegetating  without  purpose,  without  aim,  he  felt  he  would 
eventually  go  mad.  He  had  inhaled  the  poison  of  the  poppy- 
flower:  —  he  was  doomed. 

Eckhardt  did  not  attempt  to  court  repose.  Sleep  was  out  of 
the  question  in  his  present  wrought-up  state  of  mind.  Then 
wherefore  seek  his  couch  until  he  was  calmer  ? 

Calmer ! 

Could  he  ever  be  calm  again,  till  his  brain  had  ceased  to 
work  and  his  heart  to  beat  ?  Should  he  ever  know  profound 
repose  until  he  slept  the  sleep  of  death  ? 

270 


BEYOND    THE    GRAVE 

Yet  what  was  to  insure  him  rest  even  within  the  tomb  ? 
Might  he  not  encounter  her  in  the  beyond,  —  a  thing  apart 
from  him  through  all  eternity  ?  During  the  brief  period  while 
he  had  cherished  the  thought  of  disappearing  from  the  world 
for  ever,  he  had  pondered  over  many  problems,  which  neither 
monk  nor  philosophers  had  been  able  to  solve. 

Could  we  but  know  what  would  be  our  lot  after  death ! 

There  was  a  time,  when  he  had  rebelled  against  the  thought 
that  our  footsteps  are  filled  up  and  obliterated,  as  we  pass  on, 
like  in  a  quicksand. 

There  was  a  time,  he  could  not  bear  to  think,  that  yesterday 
was  indeed  banished  and  gone  for  ever,  —  that  a  to-morrow 
must  come  of  black  and  endless  night. 

And  now  he  craved  for  nothing  more  than  annihilation, 
complete  unrelenting  annihilation.  He  knew  not  what  he 
believed.  He  knew  not  what  he  doubted.  He  knew  not  what 
he  denied. 

He  was  on  the  verge  of  madness. 

And  the  devil  was  busy  in  his  heart,  suggesting  a  solution 
he  had  hitherto  shunned.  The  thought  filled  him  with  dread, 
tossing  him  to  and  fro  on  a  tempestuous  sea  of  doubt  and  yet 
pointing  to  no  other  refuge  from  black  despair. 

He  strove  to  resist  the  dread  suggestion,  but  it  grew 
upon  him  with  fearful  force  and  soon  bore  down  all  oppo 
sition. 

If  all  else  failed  —  why  not  leap  over  the  dark  abyss  ? 

A  dreadful  calm  succeeded  his  agitation.  It  was  vain  to 
puzzle  his  brain  with  a  solution  of  the  problem  which  con 
fronted  him,  a  problem  which  mocked  to  scorn  his  efforts  and 
his  prayers. 

He  closed  his  eyes,  vainly  groping  for  an  escape  from  the 
dreadful  labyrinth  of  doubt,  and  sinking  deeper  and  deeper  into 
rumination.  Nature  at  last  asserted  her  rights,  and  he  fell 
into  fitful,  uneasy  slumbers,  in  which  all  the  misery  of  his  life 

271 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

seemed  to  sweep  afresh  through  his  heart  and  to  uproot  the 
remotest  depths  of  his  tortured  soul. 

When  Eckhardt  woke  from  his  stupor,  the  gray  dawn  was 
breaking.  As  he  started  up,  a  face  which  had  appeared  against 
the  window  quickly  vanished.  Was  it  but  part  of  his  dream 
or  had  he  seen  Benilo,  the  Chamberlain  ? 


272 


CHAPTER  VII 


ARA   COELI 


T  was  not  till  late  that  night, 
that  Otto  found  himself  alone. 
He  had  at  last  withdrawn  from 
the  maddening  revelry.  Silence 
was  falling  on  the  streets  of 
Rome  and  the  dimness  of  mid 
night  upon  the  sky,  through 
which  blazing  meteors  had  torn 
their  brilliant  furrows.  After 
dismissing  his  attendants,  the 
son  of  Theophano  sat  alone  in  the  lonely  chamber  of  his  palace 
on  the  Aventine.  A  sense  of  death-like  desolation  had  come 
over  him.  Never  had  the  palace  seemed  so  vast  and  so  silent. 
And  he  —  he,  the  lord  of  it  all  —  he  had  no  loving  heart  to 
turn  to,  no  one,  that  understood  him  with  a  woman's  intuition. 
The  waves  of  destiny  seemed  to  close  over  him  and  the  circum 
stances  of  his  past  rose  poignant  and  vivid  before  his  fading 
sight. 

But  uppermost  in  his  soul  was  the  certainty  that  he  could 
not  further  behold  Stephania  with  impunity.  When  he  re- 
recalled  the  meeting  in  the  Minotaurus  and  the  subsequent 
events  of  the  evening,  he  lost  all  peace  of  mind.  What  then 
would  be  the  result  of  a  new  meeting  ?  What  would  become 
of  him,  should  he  thereafter  find  himself  unable  to  contain  his 
passion  in  darkness  and  in  silence  ?  Would  he  exhibit  to  the 
world  the  ridiculous  spectacle  of  an  insane  lover,  or  would  he, 
by  some  unheedful  action,  bring  down  upon  himself  the  dis- 

273 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

dainful  pity  of  the  woman,  unable  as  he  was  to  resist  the 
vertigo  of  her  fascination  ? 

He  gazed  out  into  the  moonlit  night.  The  ancient  monu 
ments  stood  out  mournful  and  deserted  as  a  line  of  tombs. 
The  city  seemed  a  graveyard,  and  himself  but  a  disembodied 
ghost  of  the  dead  past. 

Gradually  the  hour  laid  its  tranquillizing  hush  upon  him. 
By  degrees,  with  the  dim  light  of  the  candles,  he  grew  drowsy. 
His  mental  images  became  more  and  more  indistinct,  and  he 
gradually  drifted  away  into  the  land  of  dreams.  After  a  time 
he  was  awakened  by  a  light  that  shone  upon  his  face.  Starting 
up,  Otto  was  for  a  moment  overcome  by  a  strange  sensation 
of  faintness,  which  vanished  as  he  gazed  into  the  face  of 
Benilo,  whom  his  anxiety  had  carried  to  the  side  of  the  King 
after  having  hi  vain  searched  for  him  among  the  late  revellers 
on  the  Capitoline  hill. 

Otto  smiled  at  the  expression  of  anxiety  in  the  Roman's  face. 

"  Twas  naught,  save  that  I  was  weary,"  he  replied  to 
Benilo's  concerned  inquiry.  "  Tis  many  a  week  since  we 
revelled  so  late.  But  perchance  you  had  best  leave  me  now, 
that  I  may  rest." 

Benilo  withdrew  and  Otto  fell  into  a  fitful  slumber  filled 
with  hazy  visions,  in  which  the  persons  of  Crescentius  and 
Stephania  were  strangely  mingled,  melting  rapidly  from  one 
into  the  other. 

He  slept  later  than  usual  on  the  following  day.  When  the 
shadows  of  evening  began  to  fall  over  the  undulating  expanse 
of  the  Roman  Campagna,  Otto  left  the  palace  on  the  Aventine 
by  a  postern  gate.  This  hour  he  wished  to  be  free  from  all 
affairs  of  state,  from  all  intrusions  and  cares.  This  hour  he 
wished  fitly  to  prepare  himself  for  the  great  work  of  his  life. 
In  the  dreamy  solitude  he  would  question  his  own  heart  as  to 
his  future  course  with  regard  to  Stephania. 

The  evening  was  serene  and  fair.  The  brick  skeletons  of 

274 


ARA    COELI 

arches,  vaults  and  walls  glowed  fiery  in  the  rays  of  the  sinking 
sun.  Among  olives  and  acanthus  was  heard  the  bleating  of 
sheep  and  the  chirrup  of  the  grasshopper. 

Otto  descended  the  tangled  foot-path  on  the  northern  slope  of 
the  Aventine,  not  far  from  the  gardens  of  Capranica,  and  soon 
reached  the  foot  of  the  Capitoline  hill,  the  ruins  of  the  temple 
of  Saturnus,  the  place  where  in  the  days  of  glory  had  stood  the 
ancient  Forum.  From  the  arch  of  Septimius  Severus  as  far  as 
the  Flavian  Amphitheatre  the  Via  Sacra  was  flanked  with 
wretched  hovels.  Their  foundations  were  formed  of  fragments 
of  statues,  of  the  limbs  and  torsos  of  Olympian  gods.  For 
centuries  the  Forum  had  been  a  quarry.  Christian  churches 
languished  on  the  ruins  of  pagan  shrines.  Still  lofty  columns 
soared  upward  through  the  desolation,  carrying  sculptured 
architraves,  last  traces  of  a  vanished  art.  Here  a  feudal 
tower  leaned  against  the  arch  of  Titus;  beside  it  a  tavern 
befouled  the  fallen  columns,  the  marble  slabs,  the  half  defaced 
inscription.  Behind  it  rose  the  arch,  white  and  pure,  less 
shattered  than  the  remaining  monuments.  The  sunlight 
streaming  through  it  from  the  direction  of  the  Capitol  lighted 
up  the  bas-relief  of  the  Emperor's  triumph,  the  malodorous 
curls  of  smoke  from  the  tavern  appearing  like  clouds  of  incense. 

Otto's  heart  beat  fast  as,  turning  once  more  into  the  Forum, 
he  heard  the  dreary  jangling  of  bells  from  the  old  church  of 
Santa  Maria  Liberatrice,  sounding  the  Angelus.  It  seemed  to 
him  like  a  dirge  over  the  fallen  greatness  of  Rome.  Half 
unconsciously  he  directed  his  steps  toward  the  Coliseum. 
Seating  himself  on  the  broken  steps  of  the  Amphitheatre,  he 
gazed  up  at  the  blue  heavens,  shining  through  the  gaps  in  the 
Coliseum  walls. 

Sudden  flushes  of  crimson  flamed  up  in  the  western  horizon. 
Slowly  the  sun  was  sinking  to  rest.  A  pale  yellow  moon  had 
sailed  up  from  behind  the  stupendous  arches  of  Constantine's 
Basilica,  severing  with  her  disk  a  bed  of  clouds,  transparent 

275 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

and  delicately  tinted  as  sea-shells.  The  three  columns  hi  front 
of  Santa  Maria  Liberatrice  shone  like  phantoms  hi  the  waning 
light  of  evening.  And  the  bell  sounding  the  Christian  Angelus 
seemed  more  than  ever  like  a  dirge  over  the  forgotten  Rome 
of  the  past. 

Wrapt  hi  deep  reveries,  Otto  continued  upon  his  way.  He 
had  lost  all  sense  of  life  and  reality.  It  was  one  of  those 
moments  when  time  and  the  world  seem  to  stand  still,  drifting 
away  on  those  delicate  imperceptible  lines  that  lie  between 
reality  and  dream-land.  And  the  solitary  rambler  gave  him 
self  up  to  the  half  painful,  half  delicious  sense  of  being  drawn 
in,  absorbed  and  lost  hi  infinite  imaginings,  when  the  intense 
stillness  around  him  was  broken  by  the  peals  of  distant  con 
vent  bells,  ringing  with  silvery  clearness  through  the  evening 
calm. 

Suddenly  Otto  paused,  all  his  life-blood  rushing  to  his  heart. 

At  the  lofty  flight  of  stairs,  by  which  the  descent  is  made 
from  Ara  Coeli,  stood  Stephania. 

She  had  come  out  of  the  venerable  church,  filled  with  the 
devout  impressions  of  the  mass  just  recited.  The  chant  still 
rang  in  her  ears  as  she  passed  down  the  long  line  of  uneven 
pillars,  which  we  see  to-day,  and  across  the  sculptured  tombs 
set  in  the  pavement  which  the  reverential  tread  of  millions 
has  worn  to  smooth  indistinctness.  Now  the  last  rays  of  the 
sun  flooded  all  about  her,  mellowing  the  tints  of  verdure  and 
drooping  foliage,  and  sof tening  the  outlines  of  the  Alban  hills. 

As  she  looked  down  she  saw  the  German  king  and  met  his 
upturned  gaze.  For  a  moment  she  seemed  to  hesitate.  The 
sunlight  fell  on  her  pale  face  and  touched  with  fire  the  dark 
splendour  of  her  hair.  Slowly  she  descended  the  long  flight 
of  stairs. 

They  faced  each  other  in  silence  and  Otto  had  leisure  to 
steal  a  closer  look  at  her.  He  was  struck  by  the  touch  of  awe 
which  had  suddenly  come  upon  her  beauty.  Perhaps  the 

276 


ARA    COELI 

evening  light  spiritualized  her  pure  and  lofty  countenance, 
for  as  Otto  looked  upon  her  it  seemed  to  him  that  she  was 
transformed  into  a  being  beyond  earthly  contact  and  his  heart 
sank  with  a  sense  of  her  remoteness. 

Timidly  he  lifted  her  hand  and  pressed  his  lips  upon  it. 

Silence  intervened,  a  silence  freighted  with  the  weight  of 
suspended  destinies.  There  was  indeed  more  to  be  felt  between 
them,  than  to  be  said.  But  what  mattered  it,  so  the  hour  was 
theirs  ?  The  narrow  kingdom  of  to-day  is  better  worth  ruling 
than  the  widest  sweep  of  past  and  future,  but  not  more  than 
once  does  man  hold  its  fugitive  sceptre.  Otto  felt  the  nearness 
of  that  penetrating  sympathy,  which  is  almost  a  gift  of  divina 
tion.  The  mere  thought  of  her  had  seemed  to  fill  the  air  with 
her  presence. 

Steadily,  searchingly,  she  gazed  at  the  thoughtful  and  earnest 
countenance  of  Otto,  then  she  spoke  with  a  touch  of  domineer 
ing  haughtiness: 

"  Why  are  you  here  ?  " 

He  met  her  gaze  eye  in  eye. 

"  I  was  planning  for  the  future  of  Rome,  —  and  dreaming 
of  the  past." 

She  bent  her  proud  head,  partly  in  acknowledgment  of  his 
words,  partly  to  conceal  her  own  confusion. 

"  The  past  is  buried,"  she  replied  coldly,  "  and  the  future 
dark  and  uncertain." 

"  And  why  may  it  not  be  mine,  —  to  revive  that  past  ?  " 

"  No  sunrise  can  revive  that  which  has  died  in  the  sunset 
glow." 

"  Then  you  too  despair  of  Rome  ever  being  more  than  a 
memory  of  her  dead  self  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  amusedly. 

"  I  am  living  in  the  world  —  not  in  a  dream." 

Otto  pointed  to  the  Capitoline  hill. 

"  Yet  see  how  beautiful  it  is,  this  Rome  of  the  past!  "  he 

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THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

spoke  with  repressed  enthusiasm.  "Is  it  not  worth  braving 
the  dangers  of  the  avalanches  that  threaten  to  crush  rider  and 
horse  —  even  the  wrath  of  your  countrymen,  who  see  in  us 
but  unbidden,  unwelcome  invaders  ?  Ah !  Little  do  they 
know  the  magic  which  draws  us  hither  to  their  sunny  shores 
from  the  gloom  of  our  Northern  forests!  Little  they 
know  the  transformation  this  land  of  flowers  works  on  the 
frozen  heart,  that  yearns  for  your  glowing,  sun-tinted 
vales!" 

"  Why  did  you  come  to  Rome  ?  "  she  questioned  curtly. 
"  To  remind  us  of  these  trifles,  —  and  incidentally  to  dispossess 
us  of  our  time-honoured  rights  and  power  ?  " 

Otto  shook  his  head. 

"  I  came  not  to  Rome  to  deprive  the  Romans  of  their  own,  — 
rather  to  restore  to  them  what  they  have  almost  forgotten  — 
their  glorious  past." 

"  It  is  useless  to  remind  those  who  do  not  wish  to  be  re 
minded,"  she  replied.  "  The  avalanche  of  centuries  has  long 
buried  memory  and  ambition  in  those  you  are  pleased  to  call 
Romans.  Desist,  I  beg  of  you,  to  pursue  a  phantom  which 
will  for  ever  elude  you,  and  return  beyond  the  Alps  to  your 
native  land !  " 

"  And  Stephania  prefers  this  request  ? "  Otto  faltered, 
turning  pale. 

"  Stephania  —  the  consort  of  the  Senator  of  Rome." 

There  was  a  pause. 

Through  the  overhanging  branches  glimmered  the  pale  disk 
of  the  moon.  A  soft  breeze  stirred  the  leaves  of  the  trees. 
There  was  a  hushed  breathlessness  in  the  air.  Fantastic, 
dream-like,  light  and  shadows  played  on  the  majestic  tide  of 
the  Tiber,  and  all  over  the  high  summits  of  the  hills  mysterious 
shapes,  formed  of  purple  and  gray  mists,  rose  up  and  crept 
softly  downward,  winding  in  and  out  the  valleys,  like  wandering 
spirits,  sent  on  some  hidden,  sorrowful  errand. 

278 


ARA   COELI 

Gazing  up  wistfully,  Stephania  saw  the  look  of  pain  in  Otto's 
face. 

"  I  ask  what  I  have,"  she  said  softly,  "  because  I  know  the 
temper  of  my  countrymen." 

"  What  would  you  make  of  me  ?  "  he  replied.  "  On  this 
alone  my  heart  is  set.  Take  it  from  me,  —  I  would  drift  an 
aimless  barque  on  the  tide  of  time." 

She  shook  her  head  but  avoided  his  gaze. 

"  You  aim  to  accomplish  the  impossible.  Crows  do  not 
feed  on  the  living,  and  the  dead  do  not  rise  again.  Ah!  How, 
if  your  miracle  does  not  succeed  ?  " 

Otto  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height. 

"  Gloria  Victis,  —  but  before  my  doom,  I  shall  prove  worthy 
of  myself." 

Suddenly  a  strange  thought  came  over  him. 

"  Stephania,"  he  faltered,  "  what  do  you  want  with 
me?" 

"  I  want  you  to  be  frankly  my  foe,"  exclaimed  the  beautiful 
wife  of  Crescentius.  "  You  must  not  pass  by  like  this,  with 
out  telling  me  that  you  are.  You  speak  of  a  past.  Sometimes 
I  think  it  were  better,  if  there  had  been  no  past.  Better  burn 
a  corpse  than  leave  it  unburied.  All  the  friends  of  my  dreams 
are  here,  —  their  shades  surround  us,  —  in  their  company  one 
grows  afraid  as  among  the  shroudless  dead.  It  is  impossible. 
You  cannot  mean  the  annihilation  of  the  past,  you  cannot 
mean  to  be  against  Rome  —  against  me !  " 

Otto  faced  her,  pale  and  silent,  vainly  striving  to  speak. 
He  dared  not  trust  himself.  As  he  stepped  back,  she  clutched 
his  arm. 

"  Tell  me  that  you  are  my  enemy,"  she  said,  with  heart 
broken  challenge  in  her  voice. 

"  Stephania!  " 

"  Tell  me  that  you  hate  me." 

"  Stephania  —  why  do  you  ask  it  ?  " 

279 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

"  To  justify  my  own  ends,"  she  replied.  Then  she  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  Tell  me  all,"  she  sobbed.  "  I  must  know  all.  Do 
you  not  feel  how  near  we  are?  Are  you  indeed  afraid  to 
speak  ?  " 

She  gazed  at  him  with  moist,  glorious  eyes. 

Striding  up  and  down  before  the  woman,  Otto  vainly  groped 
for  words. 

"  Otto,"  she  approached  him  gently,  "  do  you  believe  in 
me?" 

"  Can  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Wholly  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  thought,  —  feared,  —  that  you  suffered  from  the  same 
malady  as  we  Romans." 

"  What  malady  ?  " 

"  Distrust." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  The  temple  is  beautiful  in  the  moonlight,"  Stephania  said 
at  last.  "  They  tell  me  you  like  relics  of  the  olden  time.  Shall 
we  go  there  ?  " 

Otto's  heart  beat  heavily  as  by  her  side  he  strode  down  the 
narrow  path.  They  approached  a  little  ruined  temple,  which 
ivy  had  invaded  and  overrun.  Fragments  lay  about  in  the 
deep  grass.  A  single  column  only  remained  standing  and  its 
lonely  capital,  clear  cut  as  the  petals  of  a  lily,  was  outlined  in 
clear  silhouette  against  the  limpid  azure. 

At  last  he  spoke  —  with  a  voice  low  and  unsteady. 

"  Be  not  too  hard  on  me,  Stephania,  for  my  love  of  the 
world  that  lies  dead  around  us.  I  scarcely  can  explain  it  to 
you.  The  old  simple  things  stir  strange  chords  within  me. 
I  love  the  evening  more  than  the  morning,  autumn  better 
than  spring.  I  love  all  that  is  fleeting,  even  the  perfume  of 
flowers  that  have  faded,  the  pleasant  melancholy,  the  golden 

280 


ARA    COELI 

fairy-twilight.     Remembrance  has  more  power  over  my  soul 
than  hope." 

"  Tell  me  more,"  Stephania  whispered,  her  head  leaning 
back  against  the  column  and  a  smile  playing  round  her  lips. 
"Tell  me  more.  These  are  indeed  strange  sounds  to  my  ear. 
I  scarcely  know  if  I  understand  them." 

He  gazed  upon  her  with  burning  eyes. 

"  No  —  no !    Why  more  empty  dreams,  that  can  never  be?  " 

She  pointed  hi  silence  to  the  entrance  of  the  temple. 

Otto  held  out  both  hands,  to  assist  her  hi  descending  the 
sloping  rock.  She  appeared  nervous  and  uncertain  of  foot. 
Hurriedly  and  agitated,  anxious  to  gain  the  entrance  she 
slipped  and  nearly  fell.  In  the  next  moment  she  was  caught 
up  in  his  arms  and  clasped  passionately  to  his  heart. 

"Stephania — Stephania,"  he  whispered,  "I  love  you  — 
I  love  you!  Away  with  every  restraint!  Let  them  slay  me, 
if  they  will,  by  every  death  my  falsehood  deserves,  —  but  let 
it  be  here,  —  here  at  your  feet." 

Stephania  trembled  like  an  aspen  in  his  strong  embrace, 
and  strove  to  release  herself,  but  he  pressed  her  more  closely 
to  him,  scarcely  knowing  that  he  did  so,  but  feeling  that  he 
held  the  world,  life,  happiness  and  salvation  in  this  beautiful 
Roman.  His  brain  was  in  a  whirl;  everything  seemed  blotted 
out,  —  there  was  no  universe,  no  existence,  no  ambition, 
nothing  but  love,  —  love,  —  love,  —  beating  through  every 
fibre  of  his  frame. 

The  woman  was  very  pale. 

Timidly  she  lifted  her  head.  He  gazed  at  her  in  speechless 
suspense;  he  saw  as  in  a  vision  the  pure  radiance  of  her  face, 
the  star-like  eyes  shining  more  and  more  closely  into  his. 
Then  came  a  touch,  soft  and  sweet  as  a  rose-leaf  pressed  against 
his  lips  and  for  one  moment  he  remembered  nothing.  Like 
Paris  of  old,  he  was  caught  up  hi  a  cloud  of  blinding  gold, 
not  knowing  which  was  earth,  which  heaven. 

281 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

For  a  moment  nothing  was  to  be  heard,  save  the  hard 
breathing  of  these  two,  then  Otto  held  Stephania  off  at  an 
arm's  length,  gazing  at  her,  his  soul  in  his  eyes. 

"  You  are  more  beautiful  than  the  angels,"  he  whispered. 

"  The  fallen  angels,"  was  her  smiling  reply. 

Then  with  a  quick,  spontaneous  movement  she  flung  her 
bare  arms  round  his  neck  and  drew  him  toward  her. 

"  And  if  I  did  come  toward  you  to  prophesy  glory  and  the 
fulfilment  of  your  dreams  ?  "  she  murmured,  even  as  a 
sibyl.  "  You  alone  are  alive  among  the  dead !  What  matters 
it  to  me  that  your  love  is  hopeless,  that  our  wings  are  seared  ? 
My  love  is  all  for  the  rejected !  I  love  the  proud  and  solitary 
eagle  better  than  the  stained  vulture." 

He  felt  the  fire  of  the  strange  insatiate  kiss  of  her  lips  and 
reeled.  It  seemed  as  if  the  Goddess  of  Love  in  the  translucence 
of  the  moon,  had  descended,  embracing  him,  mocking  to  scorn 
the  anguish  that  consumed  his  heart,  but  to  vanish  again  in 
the  lunar  shadows. 

"  Stephania  — "  he  murmured  reeling,  drunk  with  the 
sweetness  of  her  lips. 

Never  perhaps  had  the  beautiful  Roman  bestowed  on  mortal 
man  such  a  glance,  as  now  beamed  from  her  eyes  upon  the 
youth.  The  perfume  of  her  hair  intoxicated  his  senses.  Her 
breath  was  on  his  cheek,  her  sweet  lips  scarce  a  hand's  breath 
from  his  own. 

Had  Lucifer,  the  prince  of  darkness,  himself  appeared  at 
this  moment,  or  Crescentius  started  up  like  a  ghost  from  the 
gaping  stone  floor,  Stephania  could  scarcely  have  changed 
as  suddenly  as  she  did,  to  the  cold  impassive  rigidity  of 
marble.  Following  the  direction  of  her  stony  gaze,  Otto 
beheld  emerging  as  it  were  from  the  very  rocks  above  him  a 
dark  face  and  mailed  figure,  which  he  recognized  as  Eckhardt's. 
Whether  or  not  the  Margrave  was  conscious  of  having  thus 
unwittingly  interrupted  an  interview,  —  if  he  had  seen,  his 

282 


ARA    COELI 

own  instincts  at  once  revealed  to  him  the  danger  of  his  position. 
Eckhardt's  countenance  wore  an  expression  of  utter  uncon 
cern,  as  he  passed  on  and  vanished  hi  the  darkness. 

For  a  moment  Otto  and  Stephania  gazed  after  his  retreating 
form. 

"  He  has  seen  nothing,"  Otto  reassured  her. 

"  To-morrow,"  she  replied,  "  we  meet  here  again  at  the 
hour  of  the  Angelus.  And  then,"  she  added  changing  her 
tone  to  one  of  deepest  tenderness,  "  I  will  test  your  love,  —  - 
your  constancy,  —  your  loyalty." 

They  faced  each  other  hi  a  dead  silence. 

"  Do  not  go,"  he  faltered,  extending  his  hands. 

She  slowly  placed  her  own  hi  them.  It  was  a  moment  upon 
which  hung  the  fate  of  two  lives.  Otto  felt  her  weakness  in 
her  look,  hi  the  touch  of  her  hands,  which  shivered,  as  they 
lay  in  his,  as  captive  birds.  And  the  long  smothered  cry 
leaped  forth  from  his  heart :  What  was  crown,  life,  glory  — 
without  love!  Why  not  throw  it  all  away  for  a  caress  of 
that  hand?  What  mattered  all  else  ? 

But  the  woman  became  strong  as  he  grew  weak. 

"  Go!  "  she  said  faintly.     "  Farewell,  —  till  to-morrow." 

He  dropped  her  hands,  his  eyes  hi  hers. 

Giving  one  glance  backward,  where  Eckhardt  had  dis 
appeared,  Stephania  first  began  to  move  with  hesitating  steps, 
then  seized  by  an  irresistible  panic,  she  gathered  up  her  trailing 
robe  and  ran  precipitately  up  the  steep  path,  her  fleeting  form 
soon  disappearing  in  the  moonlight. 

Otto  remained  another  moment,  then  he  too  stepped  out 
into  the  clear  moonlit  night.  In  silent  rumination  he  continued 
his  way  toward  the  Aventine. 

Past  and  future  seemed  alike  to  have  vanished  for  him. 
Time  seemed  to  have  come  to  a  stand-still. 

Suddenly  he  imagined  that  a  shadow  stealthily  crossed 
his  path.  He  paused,  turned  —  but  there  was  no  one. 

283 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

Calmly  the  stars  looked  down  upon  him  from  the  azure 
vault  of  heaven. 

And  like  a  spider  in  his  web,  Johannes  Crescentius  sat  in 
Castel  San  Angelo. 


284 


CHAPTER  VIII 


THE   GOTHIC   TOWER 

EEP  quiet  reigned  in  the  city, 
when  a  man,  enveloped  in  a 
mantle,  whose  dimly  shadowed 
form  was  outlined  against  the 
massive,  gray  walls  of  Con- 
stan tine's  Basilica  glided  slowly 
and  cautiously  from  among  the 
blocks  of  stone  scattered  round 
its  foundations  and  advanced  to 
the  fountain  which  then  formed 
the  centre  of  the  square,  where  the  Obelisk  now  stands.  There 
he  stopped  and,  concealed  by  the  obscurity  of  the  night  and  the 
deeper  shadows  of  the  monument,  glanced  furtively  about,  as 
if  to  be  sure  that  he  was  unobserved.  Then  drawing  his  sword, 
he  struck  three  times  upon  the  pavement,  producing  at  each 
stroke  light  sparks  from  its  point.  This  signal,  for  such  it 
was,  was  forthwith  answered.  From  the  remote  depths  of  the 
ruins  the  cry  of  the  screech-owl  was  thrice  in  succession  re 
peated,  and,  guided  by  the  ringing  sound,  a  second  figure 
emerged  from  the  weeds,  which  were  in  some  places  the  height 
of  a  man.  Obeying  the  signal  of  the  first  comer,  the  second, 
who  was  likewise  enveloped  in  a  mantle,  silently  joined  him 
and  together  they  proceeded  half-way  down  the  Borgo  Vecchio, 
then  turned  to  the  right  and  entered  a  street,  at  the  remote 
extremity  of  which  there  was  a  figure  of  the  Madonna  with  its 
lamp. 

Onward  they  walked  with  rapid  steps,  traversed  the  Borgo 

285 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

Santo  Spirito  and  followed  the  street  Delia  Lingara  to  where  it 
opens  upon  the  church  Regina  Coeli.  After  having  pursued 
their  way  for  some  time  in  silence  they  entered  a  narrow  wind 
ing  path,  which  conducted  them  through  a  deserted  valley,  the 
silence  of  which  was  only  broken  by  the  occasional  hoot  of  an 
owl  or  the  fitful  flight  of  a  bat.  In  the  distance  could  be  heard 
the  splashing  of  water  from  the  basin  of  a  fountain,  half 
obscured  by  vines  and  creepers,  from  which  a  thin,  translucent 
stream  was  pouring  and  bubbling  down  the  Pincian  hillsides 
in  the  direction  of  Santa  Trinita  di  Monte. 

They  lost  themselves  hi  a  maze  of  narrow  and  little  fre 
quented  lanes,  until  at  last  they  found  themselves  before  a 
gray,  castellated  building,  half  cloister,  half  fortress,  rising 
out  of  the  solitudes  of  the  Flaminian  way,  before  which  they 
stopped.  Over  the  massive  door  were  painted  several  skeletons 
in  the  crude  fashion  of  the  time,  standing  upright  with  mitres, 
sceptres  and  crowns  upon  their  heads,  holding  falling  scrolls, 
with  faded  inscriptions  in  their  bony  grasp. 

The  one,  who  appeared  to  be  the  moving  spirit  of  the  two, 
knocked  hi  a  peculiar  manner  at  the  heavy  oaken  door.  After 
a  wait  of  some  duration  they  heard  the  creaking  of  hinges. 
Slowly  the  door  swung  inward  and  closed  immediately  behind 
them.  They  entered  a  gloomy  passage.  A  number  of  owls, 
roused  by  the  dim  light  from  the  lantern  of  the  warden,  began 
to  fly  screeching  about,  flapping  their  wings  against  the  walls 
and  uttering  strange  cries.  After  ascending  three  flights  of 
stairs,  preceded  by  the  warden,  whose  appearance  was  as  little 
inviting  as  his  abode,  they  paused  before  a  chamber,  the  door 
of  which  their  guide  had  pushed  open,  remaining  himself  on 
the  threshold,  while  his  two  visitors  entered. 

"  How  is  the  girl  ?  "  questioned  the  foremost  in  a  whisper, 
to  which  the  warden  made  whispered  reply. 

Beckoning  his  companion  to  follow  him,  the  stranger  then 
passed  into  the  room,  which  was  dimly  illumined  by  the 

286 


THE   GOTHIC   TOWER 

flickering  light  of  a  taper.  Throwing  off  his  mantle,  Eckhardt 
surveyed  with  a  degree  of  curiosity  the  apartment  and  its 
scanty  furnishings.  Nothing  could  be  more  dreary  than  the 
aspect  of  the  place.  The  richly  moulded  ceiling  was  festooned 
with  spiders'  webs  and  in  some  places  had  fallen  in  heaps  upon 
the  floor.  The  glories  of  Byzantine  tapestry  had  long  been 
obliterated  by  age  and  time.  The  squares  of  black  and  white 
marble  with  which  the  chamber  was  paved  were  loosened  and 
quaked  beneath  the  foot-steps  and  the  wide  and  empty  fire 
place  yawned  like  the  mouth  of  a  cavern. 

Straining  his  gaze  after  the  harper  who  was  bending  over 
a  couch  in  a  remote  corner  of  the  room,  Eckhardt  was  about 
to  join  him  when  Hezilo  approached  him. 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  ?  "  he  asked,  his  eyes  full  of  tears. 

Eckhardt  bowed  gravely,  and  with  gentle  foot-steps  they 
approached  a  bed  hi  the  corner  of  the  room,  on  which  there 
reposed  the  figure  of  a  girl,  lying  so  still  and  motionless  that 
she  might  have  been  an  image  of  wax.  Her  luxurious  brown 
hair  was  spread  over  the  pillow  and  out  of  this  frame  the  pinched 
white  face  with  all  its  traces  of  past  beauty  looked  out  hi  pitiful 
silence.  One  thin  hand  was  turned  palm  downward  on  the 
coverlet,  and  as  they  approached  the  fingers  began  to  work 
convulsively. 

Hezilo  bent  over  her,  and  touched  her  brow  with  his  lips. 

"  Little  one,"  he  said,  "  do  you  sleep  ?  " 

The  girl  opened  her  sightless  eyes,  and  a  faint  smile,  that 
illumined  her  face,  making  it  wondrously  beautiful,  passed  over 
her  countenance. 

"  Not  yet,"  she  spoke  so  low  that  Eckhardt  could  scarcely 
catch  the  words,  "  but  I  shall  sleep  soon." 

He  knew  what  she  meant,  for  in  her  face  was  already  that 
look  which  comes  to  those  who  are  going  away.  Hezilo  looked 
down  upon  her  hi  silence,  but  even  as  he  did  so  a  change  for 
the  worse  seemed  to  come  to  the  sick  girl,  and  they  became 

287 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

aware  that  the  end  had  begun.  He  tried  to  force  some  wine 
between  her  lips,  but  she  could  not  swallow,  and  now,  instead 
of  lying  still,  she  continued  tossing  her  head  from  side  to  side. 
Hezilo  was  undone.  He  could  do  nothing  but  stand  at  the  head 
of  the  bed  in  mute  despair,  as  he  watched  the  parting  soul  of 
his  child  sob  its  way  out. 

"  Angiola  —  Angiola  —  do  not  leave  me  —  do  not  go  from 
me !  "  the  harper  cried  in  heart-rending  anguish,  kneeling  down 
before  the  bed  of  the  girl  and  taking  her  cold,  clammy  hands 
into  his  own.  Impelled  by  a  power  he  could  not  resist,  Eckhardt 
knelt  and  tried  to  form  some  words  to  reach  the  Most  High. 
But  they  would  not  come ;  he  could  only  feel  them,  and  he  rose 
again  and  took  his  stand  by  the  dying  girl. 

She  now  began  to  talk  in  a  rambling  manner  and  with  that 
strength  which  comes  at  the  point  of  death  from  somewhere; 
her  voice  was  clear  but  with  a  metallic  ring.  What  Eckhardt 
gathered  from  her  broken  words,  was  a  story  of  trusting  love, 
of  infamous  wrong,  of  dastardly  crime.  And  the  harper  shook 
like  a  branch  in  the  wind  as  the  words  came  thick  and  fast  from 
the  lips  of  his  dying  child.  After  a  while  she  became  still  — 
so  still,  that  they  both  thought  she  had  passed  away.  But  she 
revived  on  a  sudden  and  called  out : 

"  Father,  —  I  cannot  see,  —  I  am  blind,  —  stoop  down  and 
let  me  whisper  —  " 

"  I  am  here  little  one,  close  —  quite  close  to  you !  " 

"  Tell  him,  —  I  forgive  —  And  you  forgive  him  too  — 
promise !  " 

The  harper  pressed  his  lips  to  the  damp  forehead  of  his 
child  but  spoke  no  word. 

"  It  is  bright  again  —  they  are  calling  me  —  Mother ! 
Hold  me  up  —  I  cannot  breathe." 

Hezilo  sank  on  his  knees  with  his  head  between  his  hands, 
shaken  by  convulsive  sobs,  while  Eckhardt  wound  his  arm 
round  the  dying  girl,  and  as  he  lifted  her  up  the  spirit  passed. 

288 


THE   GOTHIC   TOWER 

In  the  room  there  was  deep  silence,  broken  only  by  the  harper's 
heart-rending  sobs.  He  staggered  to  his  feet  with  despair  in 
his  face. 

"She  said  forgive!"  he  exclaimed  with  broken  voice. 
"  Man  —  you  have  seen  an  angel  die!  " 

"  Who  is  the  author  of  her  death  ?  "  Eckhardt  questioned, 
his  hands  so  tightly  clenched,  that  he  almost  drove  the  nails 
into  his  own  flesh. 

If  ever  words  changed  the  countenance  of  man,  the  Mar 
grave's  question  transformed  the  harper's  grief  into  flaming 
wrath. 

"  A  devil,  a  fiend,  who  first  outraged,  then  cast  her  forth 
blinded,  to  die  like  a  reptile,"  he  shrieked  hi  his  mastering  grief. 
"  Surely  God  must  have  slept,  while  this  was  done !  " 

There  was  a  breathless  hush  in  the  death-chamber. 

Hezilo  was  bending  over  the  still  face  of  his  child.  The  dead 
girl  lay  with  her  hands  crossed  over  her  bosom,  still  as  if  cut 
out  of  marble  and  on  her  face  was  fixed  a  sad  little  smile. 

At  last  the  harper  arose. 

Staggering  to  the  door  he  gave  some  whispered  Instructions 
to  the  individual  who  seemed  to  fill  the  office  of  warden,  then 
beckoned  silently  to  Eckhardt  to  follow  him  and  together  they 
descended  the  narrow  winding  stairs. 

"  I  will  return  late  —  have  everything  prepared,"  the  harper 
at  parting  turned  to  the  warden,  who  had  preceded  them  with 
his  lantern.  The  latter  nodded  gloomily,  then  he  retraced 
his  steps  within,  locking  the  door  behind  him. 

Under  the  nocturnal  starlit  sky,  Eckhardt  breathed  more 
freely.  For  a  time  they  proceeded  in  silence,  which  the  Mar 
grave  was  loth  to  break.  He  had  long  recognized  in  the  harper 
the  mysterious  messenger  who  in  that  never-to-be-forgotten 
night  had  conducted  him  to  the  groves  of  Theodora,  and  who 
he  instinctively  felt  had  been  instrumental  in  saving  his  life. 
Something  told  him  that  the  harper  possessed  the  key  to  the 

289 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

terrible  mystery  he  had  in  vain  endeavoured  to  fathom,  yet 
his  thoughts  reverted  ever  and  ever  to  the  scene  in  the  tower 
and  to  the  dead  girl  Angiola,  and  he  dreaded  to  break  into 
the  harper's  grief. 

They  had  arrived  at  the  place  of  the  Capitol.  It  was  deserted. 
Not  a  human  being  was  to  be  seen  among  the  ruins,  which  the 
seven-hilled  city  still  cloaked  with  her  ancient  mantle  of  glory. 
Dark  and  foreboding  the  colossal  monument  of  the  Egyptian 
lion  rose  out  of  the  nocturnal  gloom.  The  air  was  clear  but 
chill,  the  starlight  investing  the  gray  and  towering  form  of 
basalt  with  a  more  ghostly  whiteness.  At  the  sight  of  the  dread 
memory  from  the  mystic  banks  of  the  Nile,  Eckhardt  could  not 
suppress  a  shudder;  a  strange  oppression  laid  its  benumbing 
hand  upon  him. 

Involuntarily  he  paused,  plunged  in  gloomy  and  foreboding 
thoughts,  when  the  touch  of  the  harper's  hand  upon  his 
shoulder  caused  him  to  start  from  his  sombre  reverie. 

Drawing  the  Margrave  into  the  shadow  of  the  pedestal, 
which  supported  the  grim  relic  of  antiquity,  Hezilo  at  last 
broke  the  silence.  He  spoke  slowly  and  with  strained  accents. 

"  The  scene  you  were  permitted  to  witness  this  night  has 
no  doubt  convinced  you  that  I  have  a  mission  to  perform  in 
Rome.  Our  goal  is  the  same,  though  we  approach  it  from 
divergent  points.  They  say  man's  fate  is  pre-ordained,  ir 
revocable,  unchangeable  —  from  the  moment  of  his  birth. 
A  gloomy  fantasy,  yet  not  a  baseless  dream.  By  a 
strange  succession  of  events  the  thread  of  our  destiny  has 
been  interwoven,  and  the  knowledge  which  you  would  acquire 
at  any  cost,  it  is  hi  my  power  to  bestow." 

"  Of  this  I  felt  convinced,  since  some  strange  chance  brought 
us  face  to  face,"  Eckhardt  replied  gloomily. 

"  'Twas  something  more  than  chance,"  replied  the  harper. 
"  You  too  felt  the  compelling  hand  of  Fate." 

"  What  of  the  awful  likeness  ? "  Eckhardt  burst  forth, 

290 


THE   GOTHIC    TOWER 

hardly  able  to  restrain  himself  at  the  maddening  thought,  and 
feeling  instinctively  that  he  should  at  last  penetrate  the  web 
of  lies,  though  ever  so  finely  spun. 

The  harper  laid  a  warning  finger  on  his  lips. 

"  You  deemed  her  but  Ginevra's  counterfeit  ?  " 

"  Ginevra!  Ginevra!  "  Eckhardt,  disregarding  the  harper's 
caution,  exclaimed  in  his  mastering  agony.  "  What  know  you 
of  her?  Speak!  Tell  me  all!  What  of  her  ?  " 

"  Silence !  "  enjoined  his  companion.  "  How  know  we  what 
these  ruins  conceal  ?  I  guided  you  to  the  Groves  at  the  woman's 
behest.  What  interest  could  she  have  in  your  destruction  ?  " 

Eckhardt  was  supporting  himself  against  the  pedestal  of 
the  Egyptian  lion,  listening  as  one  dazed  to  the  harper's  words. 
Then  he  broke  into  a  jarring  laugh. 

"  Which  of  us  is  mad  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Wherein  did  I  offend 
the  woman?  She  plied  but  the  arts  of  her  trade." 

"  You  are  speaking  of  Ginevra,"  replied  the  harper. 

"  Ginevra,"  growled  Eckhardt,  his  hair  bristling  and  his  eyes 
flaming  as  those  of  an  infuriated  tiger  while  his  fingers  gripped 
the  hilt  of  his  dagger. 

"  You  are  speaking  of  Ginevra ! "  the  harper  repeated 
inexorably. 

With  a  moan  Eckhardt's  hands  went  to  his  head.  His 
breast  heaved ;  his  breath  came  and  went  in  quick  gasps. 

"  I  do  not  understand,  —  I  do  not  understand." 

"  You  made  no  attempt  to  revisit  the  Groves,"  said  the 
harper. 

Eckhardt  stroked  his  brow  as  if  vainly  endeavouring  to 
recall  the  past. 

"  I  feared  to  succumb  to  her  spell." 

"  To  that  end  you  had  been  summoned." 

"  I  have  since  been  warned.  Yet  it  seemed  too  monstrous 
to  be  true." 

"  Warned  ?     By  whom  ?  " 

291 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

"  Cyprianus,  the  monk !  " 

The  harper's  face  turned  livid. 

"  No  blacker  wretch  e'er  strode  the  streets  of  Rome.  And 
he  confessed  ?  " 

"  A  death-bed  confession,  that  makes  the  devils  laugh," 
Eckhardt  replied,  then  he  briefly  related  the  circumstances 
which  had  led  him  into  the  deserted  region  of  the  Tarpeian  Rock 
and  his  chance  discovery  of  the  monk,  whose  strange  tale 
had  been  cut  short  by  death. 

"  He  has  walked  long  in  death's  shadow,"  said  the  harper. 
"  Fate  was  too  kind,  too  merciful  to  the  slayer  of  Gregory." 

There  was  a  brief  pause,  during  which  neither  spoke.  At 
last  the  harper  broke  the  silence. 

"  The  hour  of  final  reckoning  is  near,  —  nearer  than  you 
dream,  the  hour  when  a  fiend,  a  traitor  must  pay  the  penalty 
of  his  crimes,  the  hour  which  shall  for  ever  more  remove  the 
shadow  from  your  life.  The  task  required  of  you  is  great; 
you  may  not  approach  it  as  long  as  a  breath  of  doubt  remains 
hi  your  heart.  Only  certainty  can  shape  your  unrelenting 
course.  Had  Ginevra  a  birth-mark  ?  " 

Eckhardt  breathed  hard. 

"  The  imprint  of  a  raven-claw  on  her  left  arm  below  the 
shoulder." 

Hezilo  nodded.    A  strange  look  had  passed  into  his  eyes. 

"  There  is  a  means  —  to  obtain  the  proof." 

"  I  am  ready!  "  replied  Eckhardt  with  quivering  lips. 

"  If  you  will  swear  on  the  hilt  of  this  cross,  to  be  guarded  by 
my  counsel,  to  let  nothing  induce  you  to  reveal  your  identity, 
I  will  help  you,"  said  the  harper. 

Eckhardt  touched  the  proffered  cross,  nodding  wearily.  His 
heart  was  heavy  to  breaking,  as  the  harper  slowly  outlined  his 
plan. 

"  The  woman  has  been  seized  by  a  mortal  dread  of  her 
betrayer,  —  the  man  who  wrecked  her  life  and  yours.  No 

292 


THE   GOTHIC   TOWER 

questions  now,  —  this  is  neither  the  hour  or  the  place !  In 
time  you  shall  know,  in  time  you  shall  be  free  to  act !  Acting 
upon  my  counsel,  she  has  bid  me  summon  to  her  presence  a 
sooth-sayer,  one  Dom  Sabbat,  who  dwells  in  the  gorge  between 
Mounts  Testaccio  and  Aventine.  To  him  I  am  to  carry  these 
horoscopes  and  conduct  him  to  the  Groves  on  the  third  night 
before  the  full  of  the  moon." 

The  harper's  voice  sank  to  a  whisper,  while  Eckhardt  listened 
attentively,  nodding  repeatedly  in  gloomy  silence. 

"  On  that  night  I  shall  await  you  in  the  shadows  of  the 
temple  of  Isis.  There  a  boat  will  lie  in  waiting  to  convey  us 
to  the  water  stairs  of  her  palace." 

The  harper  extended  his  hand,  wrapping  himself  closer  in 
his  mantel. 

"  The  third  night  before  the  full  of  the  moon!  "  he  said. 
"  Leave  me  now,  I  implore  you,  that  I  may  care  for  my  dead. 
Remember  the  time,  the  place,  and  your  pledge !  " 

Eckhardt  grasped  the  proffered  hand  and  they  parted. 

The  harper  strode  away  in  the  direction  of  the  gorge  below 
Mount  Aventine,  while  Eckhardt,  oppressed  by  strange  fore 
bodings,  shaped  his  course  towards  his  own  habitation  on  the 
Caelian  Mount. 

Neither  had  seen  two  figures  in  black  robes,  that  lingered  in 
the  shadows  of  the  Lion  of  Basalt. 

No  sooner  had  Eckhardt  and  Hezilo  departed,  than  they 
slowly  emerged,  standing  revealed  in  the  star-light  as  Benilo 
and  John  of  the  Catacombs.  For  a  moment  they  faced  each 
other  with  meaning  gestures,  then  they  too  strode  off  in  the 
opposite  directions,  Benilo  following  the  harper  on  his  singular 
errand,  while  the  bravo  fastened  himself  to  the  heels  of  the 
Margrave,  whom  he  accompanied  like  his  own  shadow,  only 
relinquishing  his  pursuit  when  Eckhardt  entered  the  gloomy 
portals  of  his  palace. 


293 


CHAPTER  IX 


THE   SNARE   OF   THE   FOWLER 


HILE  these  events  transpired  in 
Rome,  a  feverish  activity  pre 
vailed  in  Castel  San  Angelo.  In 
day  time  the  huge  mausoleum 
presented  the  same  sullen  and 
forbidding  aspect  as  ever  but 
without  revealing  a  trace  of  the 
preparations,  which  were  being 
pushed  to  a  close  within.  Under 
cover  of  night  the  breaches  had 
been  repaired ;  huge  balistae  and  catapults  had  been  placed  in 
position  on  the  ramparts,  and  the  fortress  had  been  rendered 
almost  impregnable  to  assault,  as  in  the  time  of  Vitiges,  the 
Goth. 

Events  were  swiftly  approaching  the  fatal  crisis.  While 
Otto  languished  in  the  toils  of  Stephania,  whose  society  became 
more  and  more  indispensable  to  him,  while  with  pernicious 
flattery  Benilo  closed  the  ear  of  the  king  to  the  cries  of  his 
German  subjects  and  estranged  him  more  and  more  from  his 
leaders,  his  country,  and  his  hosts,  while  Eckhardt  vainly  strove 
to  arouse  Otto  to  the  perils  lurking  in  his  utter  abandonment 
to  Roman  councillors  and  Roman  polity,  the  Senator  of  Rome 
had  introduced  into  Hadrian's  tomb  a  sufficiently  strong  body 
of  men,  not  only  to  withstand  a  siege,  but  to  vanquish  any 
force,  however  superior  to  his  own,  to  frustrate  any  assault, 
however  ably  directed.  While  the  German  contingents  re 
mained  on  Roman  soil  he  dared  not  engage  his  enemy  in 

294 


THE   SNARE  OF  THE   FOWLER 

a  last  death-grapple  for  the  supremacy  over  the  Seven  Hills, 
which  Otto's  war-worn  veterans  from  the  banks  of  the  Elbe 
and  Vistula  had  twice  wrested  from  him.  The  final  draw  in 
the  great  game  was  at  hand.  On  this  day  the  envoys  of  the 
Electors  would  arrive  in  Rome  to  demand  Otto's  immediate 
return  to  his  German  crown-lands,  whose  eastern  borders  were 
sorely  menaced  by  the  ever  recurring  inroads  of  Poles  and 
Magyars.  In  the  event  of  Otto's  refusing  compliance  with  the 
Electoral  mandate,  Count  Ludeger  of  the  Palatinate  was  to 
relieve  Eckhardt  of  his  command  and  to  lead  the  German 
contingents  back  across  the  Alps. 

But  it  was  no  part  of  the  Senator's  policy  to  permit  Otto  to 
return.  For  while  there  remained  breath  in  the  youth,  Rome 
remained  the  Fata  Morgana  of  his  dreams,  and  Crescentius 
remained  the  vassal  of  Theophano's  son.  He  could  never 
hope  to  come  into  his  own  as  long  as  the  life  of  that  boy-king 
overshadowed  his  own.  Therefore  every  pressure  must  be 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  headstrong  youth,  to  defy  the  Elec 
toral  mandate,  to  rebuff,  to  offend  the  Electoral  envoys.  Then, 
the  great  German  host  recalled,  Eckhardt  relieved  of  his  com 
mand,  Otto  isolated  in  a  hostile  camp,  Stephania  should  cry 
the  watchword  for  his  doom.  The  inconsiderable  guard  re 
maining  would  be  easily  vanquished  and  the  son  of  Theo- 
phano,  utterly  abandoned  and  deserted,  should  fall  an  easy 
prey  to  the  Senator's  schemes,  a  welcome  hostage  in  the  dun 
geons  of  Castel  San  Angelo,  for  him  to  deal  with  according  to 
the  dictates  of  the  hour.  The  task  to  urge  Otto  to  this  fatal 
step  had  been  assigned  to  Benilo,  but  Crescentius  was  pre 
pared  for  all  emergencies  arising  from  any  unforeseen  turn  of 
affairs.  He  had  gone  too  far  to  recede.  If  now  he  quailed 
before  the  impending  issue,  the  mighty  avalanche  he  had 
started  would  hurl  him  to  swift  and  certain  doom. 

Since  that  fateful  hour,  when  in  a  moment  of  unaccountable 
weakness  Crescentius  had  listened  to  Benilo 's  serpent- wisdom, 

295 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

and  had  arrayed  his  own  wife  against  the  German  King,  the 
Senator  of  Rome  had  seen  but  little  of  Stephania.  The  prepara 
tions  for  the  impending  revolt  of  the  Romans,  hi  whose  fickle 
minds  his  emissaries  found  a  fertile  soil  for  the  seed  of  treason 
and  discontent,  engaged  him  night  and  day.  He  seemed  present 
at  once  on  the  ramparts,  in  the  galleries  and  hi  the  vaults  of 
his  formidable  keep.  But  when  chance  for  a  fleeting  moment 
brought  the  Senator  face  to  face  with  his  consort,  the  mean 
ing-fraught  smile  on  the  lips  of  Stephania  seemed  to  assure 
him  that  everything  was  going  well.  Otto  was  lost  to  the  world. 
Heaven  and  earth  seemed  alike  blotted  out  for  him  in  her 
presence.  Together  they  continued  to  stroll  among  the  ruins, 
while  Stephania  poured  strange  tales  into  the  youth's  ear, 
tales  which  crept  to  his  brain,  like  the  songs  of  the  Sirens  that 
lure  the  mariner  among  the  crimson  flowers  of  their  abode. 
And  Eckhardt  despised  the  Romans  too  heartily  to  fear  them, 
and  even  therein  he  revealed  the  heel  of  Achilles. 

If  the  present  day  was  gained,  the  Senator's  diplomacy 
would  carry  victory  from  the  field,  and  Benilo  had  well  plied 
his  subtle  arts.  Yet  Crescentius  was  resolved  to  attend  in 
person  the  audience  of  the  envoys.  He  would  with  his  own 
ears  hear  the  King's  reply  to  the  Electors.  If  Benilo  had  played 
him  false  ?  He  hardly  knew  why  a  lingering  suspicion  of  the 
Chamberlain  crept  into  his  mind  at  all.  But  he  shook  himself 
free  of  the  thought,  which  had  for  a  moment  clouded  the  future 
with  its  sombre  shadow. 

As  the  Senator  of  Rome  hurriedly  traversed  the  galleries  of 
the  vast  mausoleum,  he  suddenly  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  Stephania. 

Her  face  was  pale  and  her  eyes  revealed  traces  of  tears. 

At  the  first  words  she  uttered,  Crescentius  paused,  surprise 
and  gladness  in  his  eyes. 

"  We  are  well  met,  my  lord,"  she  said,  after  a  brief  greeting, 
an  unwonted  tremor  vibrating  hi  her  tones.  "  I  have  sought 

296 


THE   SNARE   OF  THE   FOWLER 

you  in  vain  all  the  morning.  Release  me  from  the  task 
you  have  imposed  upon  me!  I  cannot  go  on!  I  am  not 
further  equal  to  it.  It  is  a  game  unworthy  of  you  or 
me!" 

The  surprise  at  her  words  for  a  moment  choked  the  Senator's 
utterance  and  almost  struck  him  dumb. 

"  Imposed  upon  ?  "  he  replied.  "  I  thought  you  had  accepted 
the  mission  freely.  Is  the  boy  rebellious  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary!  Were  he  so,  perhaps  I  should  not  now 
prefer  this  request.  He  is  but  too  pliant." 

"  He  has  made  your  task  an  easy  one,"  Crescentius  nodded 
meaningly. 

"  He  has  laid  his  whole  soul  bare  to  me;  not  athought therein, 
ever  so  remote,  which  I  have  not  sounded.  I  can  not  stand 
before  him.  My  brow  is  crimsoned  with  the  flush  of  shame. 
He  gave  me  truth  for  a  lie,  —  friendship  for  deceit.  He  de 
serves  a  better  fate  than  the  Senator  of  Rome  has  decreed  for 
him." 

Crescentius  breathed  hard. 

"  The  weakness  does  you  honour,"  he  replied  after  a  pause. 
"  Perchance  I  should  have  spared  you  the  task.  I  placed  him 
in  your  hands,  because  I  dared  trust  no  one  else.  And  now  it 
is  too  late  —  too  late!  " 

"  It  is  not  too  late,"  replied  Stephania. 

Crescentius  pointed  silently  to  the  ramparts,  where  a  score 
of  men  were  placing  a  huge  catapult  in  position. 

"  It  is  not  too  late!  "  she  repeated,  her  cheeks  alternately 
flushing  and  paling.  "  To-day,  my  lord  informed  me,  the  King 
stands  at  the  Rubicon.  To-day  he  must  choose,  if  it  is  to  be 
Rome,  if  Aix-la-Chapelle.  If  he  elects  to  return  to  the  gray 
gloom  of  his  northern  skies,  to  the  sombre  twilight  of  his 
northern  forests,  let  him  go,  my  lord,  —  let  him  go !  Much 
misery  will  be  thereby  averted,  —  much  heart-rending  de 
spair!  " 

297 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

Crescentius  had  listened  in  silence  to  Stephania's  pleading. 
There  was  a  brief  pause,  during  which  only  his  heavy  breathing 
was  heard. 

"  His  choice  is  made,"  he  replied  at  last  hi  a  firm  tone. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  my  lord !  " 

The  Senator  regarded  his  wife  with  singularly  fixed  in- 
tentness. 

"  The  toils  of  the  Siren  Rome  are  too  firm  to  be  snapped 
asunder  like  a  spider's  web." 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  Her  breath  came  and 
went  with  quick,  convulsive  gasps. 

"  It  is  shameful  —  shameful  —  "  she  sobbed.  "  Had  I 
never  lent  myself  to  the  unworthy  task !  How  could  you  con 
ceive  it,  my  lord,  how  could  you?  But  it  was  not  your  counsel ! 
May  his  right  hand  wither,  who  whispered  the  thought  into 
your  ear!  " 

Crescentius  winced.     He  felt  ill  at  ease. 

"Is  it  so  hard  to  play  the  confessor  to  yonder  wingless 
cherub  ?  "  he  said  with  a  forced  smile. 

Stephania  straightened  herself  to  her  full  height. 

"  When  I  undertook  the  shameless  task,  I  believed  the  son 
of  Theophano  a  tyrant,  an  oppressor,  his  hands  stained  with 
the  best  of  Roman  blood !  Such  your  lying  Roman  chroniclers 
had  painted  him.  I  gloried  in  the  thought,  to  humble  a  bar 
barian,  whose  vain-glorious,  boastful  insolence  meditated  new 
outrages  upon  us  Romans.  Yet  his  is  a  purer,  a  loftier  spirit, 
than  is  to  be  found  hi  all  this  Rome  of  yours!  Were  it  not 
nobler  to  acknowledge  him  your  liege,  than  to  destroy  him 
by  woman's  wiles  and  smiles  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  answer  you  on  these  points,"  Crescentius  spoke 
after  a  pause,  during  which  the  olive  tints  of  his  countenance 
had  faded  to  ashen  hues.  "  I  regard  those  dreams,  whose 
mock-halo  has  blinded  you,  in  a  different  light.  It  is  the 
wise  man  who  rules  the  state,  —  it  is  the  dreamer  who 

298 


THE   SNARE  OF  THE   FOWLER 

dashes  it  to  atoms.  We  have  gone  too  far!  I  could  not 
release  you,  —  even  if  I  would!  " 

Stephania  breathed  hard.    Her  hands  were  tightly  clasped. 

"  It  can  bring  glory  to  neither  you,  nor  Rome,"  she  said  in 
a  pleading  voice.  "  Let  him  depart  in  peace,  my  lord,  and  I 
will  thank  you  to  my  dying  hour!  " 

"  How  know  you  he  wishes  to  depart  ?  " 

"  How  know  you  he  wishes  to  remain  ?  " 

"  His  destiny  is  Rome.  Here  he  will  live  —  and  here  he 
will  die !  "  the  Senator  spoke  with  slow  emphasis.  "  But  we 
have  not  yet  agreed  upon  the  signal,"  he  continued  with  cold 
and  merciless  voice.  "  After  the  departure  of  the  envoys 
you  will  lead  the  King  into  his  favourite  haunts,  the  labyrinth 
of  the  Minotaurus,  to  the  little  temple  of  Neptune.  There  I 
will  in  person  await  him.  When  you  see  the  gleam  of  spear- 
points  in  the  thickets,  you  will  wave  your  kerchief  with  the 
cry :  '  For  Rome  and  Crescentius.'  No  harm  shall  befall  the 
youth,  —  unless  he  resist.  He  shall  have  honourable  conduct 
to  the  guest  chamber,  prepared  for  him,  —  below." 

And  Crescentius  pointed  downward  with  the  thumb  of  his 
right  hand. 

Stephania's  bosom  rose  and  fell  in  quick  respiration. 

"  I  am  not  accustomed  to  prefer  a  request  and  be  denied," 
she  said  proudly,  her  face  the  pallor  of  death.  "  Is  this  your 
last  word,  my  lord  ?  " 

Crescentius  met  her  gaze  unflinchingly. 

"  It  is  my  last,"  he  replied.  "  Yet  one  choice  remains  with 
you :  You  may  betray  the  King,  —  or  the  Senator  of 
Rome !  " 

He  turned  to  go,  but  something  whispered  to  him  to  stay. 
At  that  moment  he  despised  himself  for  having  imposed  upon 
his  wife  a  task,  against  which  Stephania's  loftier  nature  had  re 
belled  and  he  inwardly  cursed  the  hour  which  had  ripened  the 
seed  and  him,  who  had  sown  it.  Gazing  after  Stephania's 

299 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

retreating    form,  all   the   love    he   bore  her  surged   up   into 
his  heart  as  he  cried  her  name. 

Arrested  by  his  voice,  Stephania  turned  and  paused  for  a 
moment  swift  as  thought,  but  in  that  moment  she  seemed  to 
read  the  very  depths  of  his  soul  and  the  utter  futility  of  further 
entreaty.  Without  a  word  she  ascended  the  spiral  stairway 
leading  to  the  upper  galleries  and  re-entered  her  own  apart 
ments,  while  with  long  and  wistful  gaze  Crescentius  followed 
the  vanishing  form  of  his  wife. 

And  it  seemed  as  if  the  Senator's  prophecy  was  to  be  ful 
filled.  At  the  reading  of  the  Electoral  manifesto,  Otto  had  been 
seized  with  an  uncontrollable  fit  of  rage.  He  had  torn  the 
document  to  shreds  and  cast  its  fragments  at  the  feet  of  the 
Bavarian  duke,  who  acted  as  spokesman  for  his  colleagues, 
the  dukes  of  Thuringia,  Saxony  and  Westphalia.  Neither  the 
arguments  of  the  Electoral  envoys,  nor  the  violent  denuncia 
tions  of  Eckhardt,  who  aired  his  hatred  of  Rome  in  language 
never  before  heard  hi  the  presence  of  a  sovereign,  could  stand 
before  Benilo's  eloquent  pleading.  On  his  knees  the  Chamber 
lain  implored  the  King  not  to  abandon  Rome  and  his  beloved 
Romans.  Vainly  the  German  dukes  pointed  to  the  dangers 
besetting  the  realm,  vainly  to  the  inadequate  defences  of  the 
Eastern  March.  With  a  majesty  far  above  his  years,  Otto 
declared  his  supreme  will  to  make  Rome  the  capital  of  the 
earth,  and  to  restore  the  pristine  majesty  of  the  Holy  Roman 
Empire.  Rome  was  his  destiny.  Here  he  would  live,  and  here 
he  would  die.  Rome  was  pacified.  He  required  no  longer  the 
presence  of  the  army.  Let  Bavaria  and  Saxony  defend  their 
own  boundaries  as  best  they  might;  let  the  Count  Palatine 
lead  his  veteran  hosts  across  the  Alps.  He  would  remain. 
This  his  reply  to  the  Electors. 

On  the  eve  of  that  eventful  day  the  German  dukes  departed, 
while  the  Count  Palatine  proceeded  to  Tivoli,  to  prepare  the 

300 


THE   SNARE   OF  THE   FOWLER 

great  armament  for  their  winter  march  across  the  Alps.  It 
had  come  to  pass  as  Crescentius  had  predicted.  The  die  was 
cast.  Rome,  the  Siren,  had  conquered. 

In  the  night  following  these  events,  Rome  in  her  various 
quarters  presented  a  strange  aspect  of  secret  activity. 

In  the  fortresses  of  the  Cavalli  and  Caetani  lights  flitted  to 
and  fro  through  the  gratings  in  the  main  court.  Benilo,  the 
Chamberlain,  might  be  seen  stealing  from  the  postern  gate. 
Towards  the  ruins  of  the  Coliseum  men  whose  dress  bespoke 
them  of  the  lowest  rank,  were  seen  creeping  from  lanes  and 
alleys.  From  these  ruins  at  a  later  hour,  glided  again  the  form 
of  the  Grand  Chamberlain.  Later  yet,  —  when  a  gray  light 
is  breaking  in  the  east,  the  gates  of  Rome,  by  St.  John  Lateran, 
are  open.  Benilo  is  conversing  with  the  Roman  guard.  The 
mountains  are  dim  with  a  mournful  and  chilling  haze  when 
Benilo  enters  the  palace  on  the  Aventine. 


301 


CHAPTER  X 


THE   TEMPLE    OF   NEPTUNE 

HAKEN  to  the  inmost  depths  of 
his  soul  by  a  storm  of  fore 
bodings,  hope,  fear  and  passion, 
Otto  had  shaken  himself  free 
from  the  throng  of  flattering 
friends  and  courtiers  and  had 
sought  the  solitude  of  his  own 
chamber.  He  had  dismissed  the 
envoys  of  the  Electors  with  the 
unalterable  reply  that  he  would 
not  return  to  his  gloomy  Saxon-land.  Let  the  Saxon  dukes 
defend  the  borders  of  the  realm,  let  them  keep  Poles  and  Slavs 
in  check.  His  own  destiny  was  Rome.  Here  he  would  live, 
and  here  he  would  die.  Deeply  offended,  the  German  envoys 
had  departed.  The  consequences  might  be  far-reaching  indeed. 
Tearing  off  his  accoutrements  and  all  insignia  of  office  and 
rank,  Otto  flung  himself  on  his  couch  in  solitary  seclusion. 
All  had  been  against  him,  —  save  Benilo.  Benilo  alone  under 
stood  him.  Benilo  alone  encouraged  the  young  king  to  follow 
out  his  destiny.  Benilo  alone  had  pointed  out  that  the  earth 
might  be  governed  from  the  ancient  seat  of  empire  without 
detriment  to  any  of  the  nations  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire. 
Benilo  alone  had  demonstrated  the  necessity  of  Otto's  presence 
in  his  chosen  capital,  whose  heterogeneous  elements  would 
obey  no  lesser  authority. 

Weary  and  torn  by  conflicting  emotions  he  at  last  sank 
down  before  the  image  of  Mary  and  prayed  to  the  Mother  of 

302 


THE   TEMPLE   OF    NEPTUNE 

God  to  guide  his  steps  in  the  dark  wilderness  in  which  he 
found  himself  entangled.  Thus  transported  out  of  himself 
far  beyond  the  vociferous  pageant  of  that  exhausting  day,  Otto 
gave  himself  with  all  the  mystical  fervour  of  his  Hellenic 
nature  to  visions  of  the  future. 

Thus  the  evening  approached.  Long  before  the  hour  ap 
pointed  he  slowly  bent  his  steps  towards  the  little  temple  of 
Neptune,  crowning  the  olive-clad  summits  of  Mount  Aventine 
and  overlooking  the  vale  of  Egeria  and  the  meandering  course 
of  the  Tiber.  The  clouds  above,  beautiful  with  changing 
sunset  tints,  mottled  the  broken  surface  of  the  river  with  hues 
of  bronze  and  purple  between  the  leaves  of  the  creeping  water- 
plants,  which  clogged  the  movement  of  the  stream.  On  the 
river-bank  the  rushes  were  starred  with  iris  and  ranunculus. 

The  sun  was  declining  in  the  horizon.  A  solemn  stillness, 
like  the  presage  of  some  divine  event,  held  the  pulses  of  the 
universe.  A  soft  rose  crept  into  the  shimmer  of  the 
water,  cresting  the  summits  of  far  off  Soracte.  The  tran 
sient,  many-tinted  glories  of  the  autumn  sunset  were  reflected 
in  opalescent  lights  on  the  waves  of  the  Tiber,  and  swept  the 
landscape  hi  one  dazzling  glow  of  gold  and  amber,  strangely 
blending  with  the  gold  and  russet  of  the  autumn  foliage.  The 
floating  smell  of  flowers  invisible  hovered  on  the  air;  a  mystic 
yearning  seemed  to  pervade  all  nature  in  that  chill,  melancholy 
odour,  that  puts  men  in  mind  of  death.  The  soft  masses  of 
leaves  decayed  caused  a  brushing  sound  under  the  feet  of  the 
lonely  rambler. 

Round  him  in  the  silent  woods  burnt  the  magnificent 
obsequies  of  departing  summer. 

Fire-flies  moved  through  the  embalmed  air,  like  the  torches 
of  unseen  angels.  The  late  roses  exhaled  their  mystic  odour, 
and  silently  like  dead  butterflies,  here  and  there  a  wan  leaf 
dropped  from  the  branches. 

At  every  step  the  wood  became  more  lonely.  It  was  as  un- 

303 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

troubled  by  any  sound  as  an  abandoned  cemetery.  Birds 
there  were  few,  the  shade  of  the  laurel-grove  being  too  dense 
and  no  song  of  theirs  was  heard.  A  grasshopper  began  his  shrill 
cry,  but  quickly  ceased,  as  if  startled  by  its  own  voice.  Insects 
alone  were  humming  faintly  hi  a  last  slender  ray  of  sunlight, 
but  ventured  not  to  quit  its  beam  for  the  neighbouring  gloom. 
Sometimes  Otto  trended  his  path  along  wider  alleys  bordered 
by  titanic  walls  of  weird  cypress,  casting  dark  shade  as  a 
moonless  night.  Here  and  there  subterranean  waters  made  the 
moss  spongy.  Streams  ran  everywhere,  chill  as  melted  snow, 
but  silently,  with  no  tinkling  ripples,  as  if  muted  by  the  melan 
choly  of  the  enchanted  wood.  Moss  stifled  the  sound  of  the 
falling  drops  and  they  sank  away  like  the  tears  of  an  unspoken 
love. 

For  a  moment  Otto  lingered  among  a  tangle  of  elder-bushes. 
The  oblique  sun  rays  filtering  through  the  dense  laurel  became 
almost  lunar,  as  if  seen  through  the  smoke  of  a  funeral  torch. 

Along  the  edge  of  the  road  goats  were  contentedly  browsing 
and  a  rugged  sun-burnt  little  lad  with  large  black  eyes  was 
driving  a  flock  of  geese.  Storm  clouds  lined  with  gold  were 
rising  in  the  North  over  the  unseen  Alps,  and  high  up  hi  the 
clear  sky  there  burned  a  single  star. 

Deep  hi  thought,  Otto  passed  the  walls  of  the  cloisters  of 
St.  Cosmas. 

Onward  he  walked  as  hi  the  memory  of  a  dream. 

Through  the  purple  silence  came  faintly  the  chant  of  the 
monks : 

"  Fac  me  plagis  vulnerari 
Fac  me  cruce  inebriari 
Ob  amorem  Filii." 

At  last  the  Ionic  marble  columns,  softly  steeped  hi  the  warmth 
of  departing  day,  came  into  sight.  Silence  and  coolness  en 
compassed  him.  The  setting  sun  still  cast  his  glimmer  on  the 
capitals  of  the  columns  whose  fine,  illumined  scroll  work, 

304 


THE    TEMPLE    OF    NEPTUNE 

contrasted  with  the  penumbral  shadows  of  the  interior,  seemed 
soft  and  bright  as  tresses  of  gold. 

A  hand  softly  touched  Otto's  shoulder.    A  voice  whispered: 

"  If  you  would  know  all  —  come !  Come  and  I  will  tell  you 
the  secret  which  never  yet  I  have  uttered  to  mortal  man." 

In  the  departing  light,  veiled  by  the  thick  cypresses  and  pale 
as  the  moon-beams,  just  as  in  the  Egerian  wilderness  in  the 
whiteness  of  summer-lightnings,  she  put  her  face  close  to  his, 
her  face  white  as  marble,  with  its  scarlet  lips,  its  witch-like 
eyes. 

On  they  walked  in  silence,  hand  in  hand. 

On  they  walked  along  the  verge  of  a  precipice,  where  none 
have  walked  before,  resisting  the  vertigo  and  the  fatal  attraction 
of  the  abyss.    If  they  should  prove  unequal  to  the  strain,  — 
overstep  the  magic  circle  ? 

Stephania  was  pale  and  trembled.  She  smiled,  —  but  the 
smile  troubled  him,  he  scarce  knew  why.  He  tried  to  think 
it  was  the  melancholy,  caused  by  the  wild  and  stormy  look  of 
the  sunset  and  the  loud  cawing  of  the  hereditary  rooks,  which 
seemed  to  croak  an  everlasting  farewell  to  life  and  hope  in  the 
oaks  of  the  convent. 

Must  he  repulse  the  love  that  surged  up  to  him  in  resistless 
waves  ? 

Must  he  renounce  the  near  for  the  far-away,  the  ideal, 
whose  embodiment  she  was,  for  the  commonplace  ? 

Slowly  the  sun  sank  to  rest  in  a  sea  of  crimson  and  gold, 
a  fiery  funeral  of  foliage  and  flowers. 

A  clock  boomed  from  a  neighbouring  tower.  The  heavy 
measured  clang  vibrated  long  through  the  stillness,  quivering 
in  the  air,  like  a  warning  knell  of  fate. 

Softly  she  drew  him  into  the  dusk  of  the  pagan  temple,  drew 
him  down  beside  her  on  one  of  the  scattered  fragments  of 
antiquity,  a  dog-eared  God  of  black  Syenite  from  Egypt,  which 
had  shared  the  fate  of  its  Latin  equals. 

305 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

But  he  could  not  sit  beside  —  her. 

Abruptly  he  rose;  standing  before  her,  the  passion  of  the 
long  fight  surged  up  in  him.  Stephania  sat  motionless,  and 
for  a  time  neither  spoke. 

At  last  Otto  broke  the  silence.  His  voice  was  strained  as  if 
he  were  suffering  some  great  pain. 

"  I  have  come !  "  he  said.  "  I  have  cut  every  bridge  between 
present  and  past!  I  am  here. —  Have  you  thought  of  my 
appeal  ?  " 

"  Oh,  why  do  you  torture  me  ?  "  she  replied  half  sobbing, 
"  I  venture  to  ask  for  a  delay,  and  you  arraign  me  as  though  I 
stood  at  the  bar  of  judgment." 

"  It  is  our  day  of  judgment,"  he  replied.  "  It  is  the  day 
when  life  confronts  us  with  our  own  deeds,  —  when  we  must 
answer  for  them,  when  we  must  justify  them.  For  if  we  are 
but  triflers,  we  cannot  stand  in  the  face  either  of  heaven  or  of 
hell!" 

He  bent  down  and  took  her  hands  in  his. 

"  Stephania,"  he  said,  "  I  too  have  doubted,  I  too  have 
wavered :  —  give  me  but  one  word  of  assurance,  —  my  love 
for  you  is  a  wound  which  no  eternity  can  cure." 

She  broke  from  him,  to  hide  her  weeping. 

"  Have  you  thought  of  the  forfeit  ?  "  she  faltered  after  a 
time. 

"  I  would  not  forego  the  doom !  -  You  alone  are  my  light 
in  this  dark  country  of  the  world.  Do  not  stifle  the  voice  in 
your  heart  with  reasons  —  " 

"  Reasons!  Reasons!  "  she  interrupted.  "  What  does  the 
heart  know  of  reasons!  Mine  has  long  forgotten  their  plead 
ings  —  else,  were  I  here  ?  " 

Something  in  her  voice  and  gesture  was  like  a  lightning 
flash  over  a  dark  landscape.  In  an  instant  he  saw  the  pit  at 
his  feet. 

"  What  then,"  he  faltered,  "  is  this  to  lead  to  ?  " 

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THE   TEMPLE   OF   NEPTUNE 

"  Some  one  has  been  with  you,"  she  said  quickly.  "  These 
words  were  not  yours." 

He  rallied  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  A  pretext  for  not  heeding  them." 

"  Eckhardt  has  been  with  you !  He  has  maligned  me  to 
you!  " 

"  He  has  warned  me  against  you!  " 

She  turned  very  pale. 

"  And  you  heeded  ?  " 

"  I  am  here,  Stephania!  " 

The  subtle  perfume  clinging  to  her  gown  mounted  to  his 
brain,  choking  back  reason  and  resistance. 

"  Yet  again  I  ask  you,  what  is  this  to  lead  to  ?  I  am  afraid 
of  the  future  as  a  child  of  the  dark!  " 

She  held  his  hands  tightly  clasped. 

"Oh!  "  she  sobbed,  "why  will  you  torture  me?  I  have 
borne  much  for  our  love's  sake  —  but  to  answer  you  now  is  to 
relive  it  and  I  lack  the  strength." 

He  held  her  hands  fast,  his  eyes  hi  hers. 

"  No,  Stephania,"  he  said,  "  your  strength  never  failed  you 
when  there  was  call  on  it,  and  our  whole  past  calls  on  it  now ! 
Eckhardt  tells  me  that  the  Romans  hate  me,  —  that  they 
resent  the  love  I  bear  them  —  oh,  if  it  were  true  !  " 

Stephania  gazed  at  him  with  wide  astonished  eyes. 

"  Ah!  It  is  this  then,"  she  said  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  A 
moment's  thought  must  show  you  what  passions  are  here  at 
work.  You  must  rise  above  such  fears.  As  for  us,  —  no  one 
can  judge  between  us,  but  ourselves.  Shake  off  these  dread 
fancies!  There  lies  but  one  goal  before  us.  You  pointed  the 
way  to  it  once.  Surely  you  would  not  hold  me  back  from  it 
now  ?  " 

Gently  she  drew  him  down  by  her  side.  Through  the  crevices 
in  the  roof  glimmered  the  evening  star. 

She  saw  the  conflict,  which  raged  within  him,  the  instinct 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

to  break  away  from  her,  who  could  never  more  be  his  own. 
She  saw  the  fear  which  bound  him  to  her,  —  she  saw  the  great 
love  he  bore  her,  and  she  knew  that  he  was  hers  soul  and 
body,  her  instrument,  her  toy,  —  her  lover  if  she  so  willed. 

He  spoke  to  her  of  his  childhood  in  the  bleak  northern 
forests;  of  the  black  pines  of  Thuringia,  of  the  snow-drifts, 
which  froze  his  heart;  of  the  sad  sea  horizons  brooding  in 
finitely  away ;  of  the  gloomy  abbey  of  Merseburg,  in  the  Saxon- 
land,  where  the  great  Emperor  Otto,  his  grandsire,  was 
sleeping  towards  the  day  of  resurrection,  where  under  the  abbot's 
guidance  he  had  first  been  initiated  into  the  magic  of  a  sunnier 
clime.  He  spoke  to  her  of  his  Greek  mother,  the  Empress 
Theophano,  whose  great  beauty  was  only  rivalled  by  her  own, 
and  of  that  eventful  night,  when  he  descended  into  the  crypts 
of  Aix-la-Chapelle  and  opened  the  tomb  of  Charlemagne,  then 
dead  almost  two  hundred  years.  He  told  her  how  he  had 
fought  against  this  mad,  unreasoning  love,  which  had  at 
first  sight  of  her  crept  into  his  heart,  urging  naught  in  pallia 
tion  of  his  offence,  but  like  a  flagellant  laying  bare  his  tortured 
flesh  to  a  self-inflicted  scourge.  He  begged  her  to  decide  for 
him,  to  guide  him,  lonely  antagonist  of  destiny  —  dared  he 
ask  for  more?  She  was  the  wife  of  the  Senator  of  Rome. 

As  he  ceased  speaking,  Otto  covered  his  face  with  his  hands, 
but  Stephania  drew  them  down  and  held  them  firmly  hi  her 
own.  Truly,  if  it  was  victory  to  accomplish  the  end,  by  drawing 
out  a  loving,  confiding  heart,  the  victory  was  with  the  van 
quished.  And  with  the  memory  of  the  compact  she  had  sealed 
a  wondrous  pity  flashed  through  the  woman's  soul,  a  mighty 
longing,  to  lift  the  son  of  the  Greek  Princess  up  into  joyous 
peace !  No  thought  of  evil  marred  her  pure  desire,  —  alas ! 
She  knew  not  at  that  moment,  that  even  in  that  pity  lay  his 
direst  snare,  and  hers. 

The  decisive  moment  was  at  hand.  In  the  thickets  before 
the  temple  her  eye  discerned  the  gleam  of  spear-points.  For 

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THE   TEMPLE    OF    NEPTUNE 

a  moment  a  violent  tremor  passed  through  her  body.  She  had 
hardly  strength  sufficient  to  maintain  her  presence  of  mind, 
and  her  face  was  pale  as  that  of  a  corpse. 

Would  she,  a  second  Delilah,  deliver  Otto  to  her  country 
men  —  the  Romans  ? 

It  was  some  time  ere  she  felt  sufficiently  composed  to  speak. 
Her  throat  was  dry  and  she  seemed  to  choke. 

Otto  remarked  her  discomfiture,  far  from  guessing  its  cause. 

"  I  will  fetch  you  some  water,"  he  said,  starting  up  to  leave 
the  temple. 

Quick  as  lightning  she  had  arisen,  holding  him  back. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  she  whispered  nervously.  "  Do  not  leave 
me!" 

And  he  obeyed. 

Stephania  closed  her  eyes  as  if  to  exclude  the  sight  of  the 
spear-points. 

"  Otto,"  she  said  softly,  after  a  pause,  for  the  first  time 
calling  him  by  his  name,  "  I  fear  there  is  one  great  lesson  you 
have  never  learned." 

"  And  what  is  this  lesson  ?  " 

"  That,  what  you  are  doing  for  the  Romans  might  also  be 
done  for  you !  Is  there  no  heart  to  share  your  sorrow,  to  help 
you  bear  the  pain  of  disappointment,  which  must  come  to  you 
sooner  or  later  ?  You  told  me,  you  had  never  loved  before  we 
met  —  " 

He  nodded  assent. 

"  Never  —Never!  " 

' '  Ah !  Then  you  do  not  know.  You  seek  for  light,  where  the 
sun  can  never  shine !  Striving  for  the  highest  ideals  of  man 
kind  we  can  rise  from  the  black  depths  of  doubt  but  by  one 
ladder,  —  that  of  a  woman's  love !  " 

Again  the  dreadful  doubt  assailed  him. 

"  If  you  mean  —  that,  —  oh,  do  not  speak  of  it,  Stephania  I 
The  wound  is  already  past  healing." 

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THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

She  bent  towards  him  and  rested  her  head  upon  his 
shoulders. 

"  And  yet  I  must,  —  here  —  and  to  you." 

"No  —  no  —  no !  "  he  muttered  helplessly  and  turned 
away.  The  words  of  Eckhardt  rushed  and  roared  through  his 
memory:  "  Once  you  are  hers,  —  no  human  power  can  save 
you  from  the  abyss." 

But  Eckhardt  hated  the  Romans  as  one  hates  a  scorpion, 
a  basilisk. 

Stephania  relinquished  not  her  victim.  He  must  be  hers, 
body  and  soul,  ere  she  shrieked  the  fatal  word.  -  The  warm 
blood  hurtling  through  her  veins  quenched  the  last  pitying 
spark. 

"  Ah!  "  she  said  with  a  sigh.  "  You  have  never  known  the 
tenderness  of  a  woman's  smile,  —  the  touch  of  a  woman's 
hand,  —  her  soft  caress,  —  the  sound  of  her  voice,  —  that 
haunts  you  everywhere,  —  waking,  —  in  your  dreams  —  " 

"  Stephania!  "  he  gasped,  and  rose  as  if  to  flee  from  her, 
but  she  held  him  back. 

"  You  have  never  known  the  ear  that  listens  for  your  foot 
steps,  —  the  lips  that  meet  your  own  hi  a  long,  passionate 
kiss,  —  the  kiss  that  thrills  —  and  burns  —  and  maddens  —  " 

"  Stephania  —  in  mercy  —  cease !  " 

Again  he  attempted  to  rise,  again  she  drew  him  down. 

"  You  are  not  like  other  men  —  Otto !  Will  you  always  live 
so  lonely,  —  so  companionless,  —  with  no  one  to  love  you 
with  that  lasting  love,  for  which  your  whole  soul  cries  out  ?  " 

Shivering  he  raised  his  arms  as  if  to  shut  the  sight  of  her 
from  his  dazzled  gaze.  Again,  though  fainter,  Eckhardt's 
terrible  warning  knocked  at  the  gates  of  his  memory.  But  her 
purring  voice  with  its  low  melodious  roll,  wooed  his  listening 
heart  till  the  doors  of  reason  tottered  on  their  hinges.  And 
the  end  —  what  would  be  the  end  ? 

"  Tell  me  no  more,"  he  gasped,  "  tell  me  no  more !  I  cannot 

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THE   TEMPLE   OF    NEPTUNE 

listen!     I  dare  not  listen!     You  will  destroy  me!     You  will 
destroy  us  both!  " 

Her  lips  parted  in  a  smile,  —  that  fateful  smile,  which 
caused  his  soul  to  quake.  Her  fine  nostrils  quivered,  as  she 
bent  towards  him. 

"  You  cannot  ?  "  she  said.    "  You  dare  not  ?    Will  you  pass 
the  cup  un tasted,  the  cup  that  brims  with  the  crimson  joy  of 
love  ?    Is  there  none  in  all  the  world  to  take  you  by  the  hand,  — 
to  lead  you  home  ?  " 

With  a  cry  half  inarticulate  he  sprang  toward  her,  —  his 
fierce  words  tumbling  from  delirious  lips: 

"  Yes,  —  there  is  one,  —  there  is  one,  —  one  who  could 
lift  me  up  till  my  soul  should  sing  in  heavenly  bliss,  —  one 
who  could  bring  to  me  forgetfulness  and  peace,  —  one  who 
could  change  my  state  of  exalted  loneliness  to  a  delirium  of 
ecstasy,  —  one  who  could  lead  me,  wherever  she  would  — 
could  I  but  lay  my  head  on  her  breast,  —  touch  her  lips,  — 
call  her  mine  —  " 

Stephania  stretched  out  her  white,  bare  arms  that  made 
him  dizzy.  He  stood  before  her  quivering  with  hands  pressed 
tightly  against  his  throbbing  temples.  One  moment  only.  — 
Half  risen  from  her  seat,  her  eye  on  the  gleaming  spear-points 
in  the  thicket,  she  seemed  to  crouch  towards  him  like  some 
beautiful  animal,  then  a  half  choked  out  cry  broke  from  his 
lips,  as  their  eyes  looked  hungrily  into  each  others,  and  they 
were  clasped  in  a  tight  embrace.  Stephania's  arms  encircled 
Otto's  neck  and  she  pressed  her  lips  on  his  in  a  long,  fervid 
kiss,  which  thrilled  the  youth  to  the  marrow  of  his  bone. 

At  that  moment  a  curtain  of  matted  vines,  which  divided 
the  vestibule  of  the  little  temple  from  its  inner  chambers  was 
half  pushed  aside  by  a  massive  arm,  wrapped  with  scales  of 
linked  mail.  Standing  behind  them,  Crescentius  witnessed  the 
embrace  and  withdrew  without  a  word. 

Was  Stephania  not  overacting  her  part  ? 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

He  waited  for  the  signal. 

No  signal  came. 

Then  a  terrible  revelation  burst  upon  the  Senator's  mind. 

Johannes  Crescentius  had  lost  the  love  of  his  wife. 

After  a  time  the  spear-points  disappeared. 

The  Senator  of  Rome  saw  his  own  danger  and  the  forces 
arrayed  against  him.  He  was  no  longer  dealing  with  statecraft. 
The  weapon  had  been  turned.  With  a  smothered  outcry  of 
anguish  he  slowly  retraced  his  steps. 

Neither  had  seen  the  silent  witness  of  their  embrace. 

Silence  had  ensued  in  the  temple. 

Each  could  feel  the  tremor  in  the  soul  of  the  other. 

After  a  time  Otto  stumbled  blindly  into  the  open.  Stephania 
remained  alone  hi  rigid  silence. 

In  frozen  horror  she  stared  into  the  dusk. 

"  The  game  is  finished,  —  I  have  won,  —  oh,  God  forgive 
me  —  God  forgive  me !  "  she  moaned.  "  Otto  .  .  .  Otto 
.  .  .  Otto  ..." 

"  If  you  would  know  all,  —  come  at  midnight  to  the  church 
yard  near  Ponte  Sisto,"  whispered  a  voice  close  by  his  side,  as 
Crescentius  staggered  towards  the  Aelian  bridge. 

He  felt  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  turned,  and  saw,  like 
some  ill-omened  ghost  in  the  wintry  twilight,  a  lean  pale  face 
staring  into  his  own. 

In  the  darkness,  under  the  dense  shadows  of  the  cypress- 
trees  he  could  not  distinguish  the  features  of  his  companion, 
who  wore  the  habit  of  a  monk. 

But  when  Crescentius  turned  to  reply,  he  was  alone. 

"  Christ  too  prayed  a  human  prayer  for  a  miracle : 
Father,  let  this  cup  pass  from  me!  "  he  muttered,  continuing 
upon  his  way. 

With  eyes  on  the  ground  he  strode  along  the  narrow 
walk,  skirting  the  Tiber,  in  whose  turbid  waves  no  stars 

312 


THE   TEMPLE    OF   NEPTUNE 

were  reflected.  And  scarce  consciously  he  repeated  to 
himself : 

"  As  like  as  a  man  and  his  own  phantom,  —  his  own 
phantom." 

He  passed  the  bridge  and  entered  the  mausoleum  of  the 
Flavian  emperor.  Rapidly  he  ascended  to  his  own  chamber. 

The  candle  was  burning  low. 

Up  and  down  he  paced  hi  the  endeavour  to  order  his  thoughts. 
But  no  order  would  come  hi  to  the  chaotic  confusion  of  his  mind. 

What  was  the  dominion  of  Rome  to  him  now  ? 

What  the  dominion  of  the  Universe  ? 

What  devil  in  human  shape  had  counselled  the  act  hi  the 
seeds  of  which  slumbered  his  own  destruction  ? 

The  flame  of  the  dying  candle  flickered  and  grew  dim. 

Had  Stephania  returned  ? 

He  heard  no  steps,  no  sound  in  her  chamber. 

At  the  memory  of  what  he  had  seen,  a  groan  broke  from 
his  lips. 

How  he  hated  that  boy,  who  after  wresting  from  him  the 
dominion  of  the  city,  had  stolen  from  him  the  love  of  his  wife ! 

Stolen  ?  Had  it  not  been  thrust  upon  him  ?  What  mortal 
could  have  resisted  the  temptation  ?  He  would  die  —  thus 
it  was  written  in  the  stars ;  —  but  Stephania  would  weep  for 
him — 

On  tip-toe  the  Senator  stole  to  the  chamber  of  his  wife. 
The  door  stood  ajar.  The  chamber  was  empty. 

The  candle  flared  up  for  the  last  time,  lighting  up  the  gloom. 
Then  it  sank  down  and  went  out. 

Crescentius  was  alone  hi  the  darkness. 


313 


CHAPTER  XI 


THE   INCANTATION 


T  was  near  the  hour  of  midnight 
when  a  figure,  muffled  and  con 
cealed  in  an  ample  mantle  left 
Castel  San  Angelo.  The  guards 
on  duty  did  not  challenge  it  and 
after  crossing  the  Aelian  bridge, 
it  traversed  the  deserted  thor 
oughfares  until  it  reached  the 
Flaminian  way,  which  it  en 
tered.  Avoiding  the  foot-path 
near  the  river,  the  figure  moved  stealthily  along  the  farther 
side  of  the  road,  which,  as  far  as  could  be  discerned  by  the 
glimpses  of  the  moon  which  occasionally  shone  forth  from  a 
bank  of  heavy  clouds,  was  deserted.  A  few  sounds  arose  from 
the  banks  of  the  river  and  there  was  now  and  then  a  splash  in 
the  water  or  a  distant  cry  betokening  some  passing  craft. 
Otherwise  profound  silence  reigned.  The  low  structures  and 
wharfs  on  the  opposite  bank  could  be  but  imperfectly  discerned, 
but  the  moonlight  fell  clear  upon  the  mausoleum  of  Augustus 
and  the  adjacent  church  of  St.  Eufemia.  The  same  glimmer 
also  ran  like  a  silver-belt  across  the  stream  and  revealed  the 
gloomy  walls  of  the  Septizonium.  The  world  of  habitations 
beyond  this  melancholy  stronghold  was  buried  in  darkness. 

After  crossing  Ponte  Sisto  the  muffled  rambler  entered  a 
churchyard,  which  seemed  to  have  been  abandoned  for  ages. 
The  moon  was  now  shining  brightly  and  silvered  the  massive 
square  watchtowers,  the  battlements,  and  pinnacles  with 


THE    INCANTATION 

gorgeous  tracery.  Crescentius  had  hardly  set  foot  on  the  moss- 
grown  path,  when  two  individuals  wrapped  in  dark,  flowing 
mantles,  whose  manner  was  as  mysterious  as  their  appearance, 
glided  stealthily  past  him. 

They  seemed  not  to  have  noticed  his  presence  but  pursued 
their  way  through  the  churchyard,  creeping  beneath  the  shadow 
of  a  wall  in  the  direction  of  some  low  structure,  which  ap 
peared  to  be  a  charnel-house  situated  at  its  north-western 
extremity.  Before  this  building  grew  a  black  and  stunted 
yew-tree.  Arrived  at  it,  they  paused  to  see  whether  they  were 
observed.  They  did  not  notice  the  unbidden  visitor,  who  had 
concealed  himself  behind  a  buttress.  One  of  the  two  individuals 
who  seemed  bent  by  great  age  then  unlocked  the  door  of  the 
charnel-house  and  brought  out  a  pick-axe  and  a  spade.  Then 
both  men  proceeded  some  little  distance  from  the  building 
and  began  to  shovel  out  the  mould  from  a  grass-grown  grave. 

Determined  to  watch  their  proceeding,  Crescentius  crept 
towards  the  yew-tree,  behind  which  he  ensconced  himself. 
The  bent  and  decrepit  one  of  the  two  meanwhile  continued  to 
ply  his  spade  with  a  vigour  that  seemed  incomprehensible  in 
one  so  far  stricken  in  years  and  of  such  infirm  appearance. 
At  length  he  paused,  and  kneeling  within  the  shallow  grave 
endeavoured  to  drag  something  from  it.  His  assistant,  appar 
ently  younger  and  possessed  of  greater  vigour,  knelt  to  lend 
his  aid.  After  some  exertion  they  drew  forth  the  corpse  of 
a  woman  which  had  been  interred  without  a  coffin  and  ap 
parently  in  the  habiliments  worn  during  life.  Then  the  two 
men  raised  the  corpse,  and  conveyed  it  to  the  charnel-house. 
After  having  done  so,  one  of  them  returned  to  the  grave  for 
the  lantern  and,  upon  returning,  entered  the  building  and 
closed  and  fastened  the  door  behind  him. 

Crescentius  had  chosen  the  moment  when  one  of  the  two  in 
dividuals  left  the  lone  house,  to  enter  unobserved  and  to  conceal 
himself  in  the  shadows.  What  he  had  witnessed,  had  exer- 

315 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

cised  a  terrible  fascination  over  him,  and  he  was  determined 
to  see  to  an  end  the  devilish  rites  about  to  be  performed  by 
the  personage,  in  quest  of  whom  he  had  come.  The  chamber 
in  which  he  found  himself  was  hi  perfect  keeping  with  the 
horrible  ceremonial  about  to  be  performed.  In  one  corner 
lay  a  mouldering  heap  of  skulls,  bones  and  other  fragments 
of  mortality;  in  the  other  a  pile  of  broken  coffins,  emptied  of 
their  tenants  and  reared  on  end.  But  what  chiefly  attracted 
his  attention,  was  a  ghastly  collection  of  human  limbs  black 
ened  with  pitch,  girded  round  with  iron  hoops  and  hung  like 
meat  hi  a  shamble  against  the  wall.  There  were  two  heads, 
and  although  the  features  were  scarcely  distinguishable  owing 
to  the  liquid  hi  which  they  had  been  immersed,  they  still  re 
tained  a  terrible  expression  of  agony.  These  were  the  quarters 
of  two  priests  recently  executed  for  conspiracy  against  the 
Pontiff,  which  had  been  left  there  pending  their  final  dis 
position.  The  implements  of  execution  were  scattered  about 
and  mixed  with  the  tools  of  the  sexton,  while  in  the  centre  of 
the  room  stood  a  large  wooden  frame  supported  by  rafters. 
On  this  frame,  bespattered  with  blood  and  besmeared  with 
pitch,  the  body  was  now  placed.  This  done,  the  one  who 
seemed  to  be  the  moving  spirit  of  the  two,  placed  the  lantern 
beside  it,  and  as  the  light  fell  upon  its  livid  features,  sullied 
with  earth,  and  exhibiting  traces  of  decay,  Crescentius  was  so 
appalled  by  the  sight,  that  he  revealed  his  presence  by  a  half 
suppressed  outcry.  Seeing  the  futility  of  further  concealment, 
he  stepped  into  the  light  of  the  lantern  and  was  about  to  speak, 
when  he  heard  the  older  address  his  assistant,  neither  of 
whom  evinced  the  least  surprise  at  his  presence,  while  he 
pointed  toward  him: 

"  Look !  It  is  the  very  face !  The  bronzed  and  strongly 
marked  features,  —  the  fierce  gray  eye  —  the  iron  frame  of 
the  figure  we  beheld  hi  the  show-stone  I  Thus  he  looked,  as  we 
tracked  his  perilous  course." 


THE    INCANTATION 

"  You  know  me  then  ?  "  asked  the  intruder  uneasily. 

"  You  are  the  Senator  of  Rome!  " 

"  You  spoke  of  my  perilous  course !  How  have  you  learned 
this  ?  " 

"  By  the  art  that  reveals  all  things!  And  in  proof  that  your 
thoughts  are  known  to  me,  I  will  tell  you  the  inquiry  you 
would  make  before  it  is  uttered.  You  came  here  to  learn 
whether  the  enterprise  hi  which  you  are  engaged  will  succeed." 

"  Such  was  my  intent,"  replied  Crescentius.  "  From  the 
reports  about  you,  I  will  freely  admit,  I  regarded  you  as  an 
impostor!  Now  I  am  convinced  that  you  are  skilled  in  the 
occult  science  and  would  fain  consult  you  on  the  future. 
What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  "  he  continued  pointing  to  the 
corpse  before  him. 

"  I  expected  you!  "  was  the  conjurer's  laconic  reply. 

"  How  is  that  possible  ?  "  exclaimed  Crescentius.  "  It  is 
only  within  the  hour,  that  I  conceived  the  thought,  —  and  only 
the  events  of  this  evening  prompted  it." 

"  I  know  all !  "  replied  Dom  Sabbat.  "  Yet  I  would  caution 
you:  beware,  how  you  pry  into  the  future.  You  may  repent 
of  your  rashness,  when  it  is  too  late." 

"  I  have  no  fear!  Let  me  know  the  worst!  "  replied  Cres 
centius. 

The  conjurer  pointed  to  the  corpse. 

"  That  carcass  having  been  placed  in  the  ground  without  the 
holy  rites  of  burial,  I  have  power  over  it.  As  the  witch  of  Endor 
called  up  Samuel,  as  is  recorded  in  Holy  Writ,  —  as  Erichtho 
raised  up  a  corpse,  to  reveal  to  Sextus  Pompejus  the  event  of  the 
Pharsalian  war,  —  as  the  dead  maid  was  brought  back  to  life 
by  Appollonius  of  Thyana,  —  so  I,  by  certain  powerful  in 
cantations  will  lure  the  soul  of  this  corpse  for  a  short  space 
into  its  former  abode,  and  compel  it  to  answer  my  questions. 
Dare  you  be  present  at  the  ceremony  ?  " 

"  I  dare !  "  replied  the  Senator  of  Rome. 

317 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

"  So  it  be !  "  replied  Dom  Sabbat.  "  You  will  need  all  your 
courage !  "  and  he  extinguished  the  light. 

An  awful  silence  ensued  in  the  charnel-house,  broken  only 
by  a  low  murmur  from  the  conjurer  who  appeared  to  be 
reciting  an  incantation.  As  he  proceeded,  his  tones  became 
louder  and  his  voice  that  of  command.  Suddenly  he  paused 
and  seemed  to  await  a  response.  But  as  none  was 
made,  greatly  to  the  disappointment  of  Crescentius,  whose 
curiosity,  despite  his  fears,  was  raised  to  the  highest  pitch, 
cried : 

"  Blood  is  wanting  to  complete  the  charm!  " 

"  If  that  be  all,  I  will  speedily  supply  the  deficiency,"  replied 
the  Senator, bared  his  left  arm  and,  drawing  his  poniard,  pricked 
it  slightly  with  the  point  of  the  weapon. 

"  I  bleed  now!  "  he  cried. 

"  Sprinkle  the  corpse  with  the  blood,"  commanded  Dom 
Sabbat. 

"  The  blood  is  flowing  upon  it !  "  replied  Crescentius  with 
a  shudder. 

Upon  this  the  conjurer  began  to  mutter  an  incantation  in  a 
louder  and  more  authoritative  tone  than  before.  His  assistant 
added  his  voice,  and  both  joined  in  a  sort  of  chorus,  but  in  a 
jargon  entirely  unintelligible  to  the  Senator. 

Suddenly  a  blue  flame  appeared  above  their  heads,  and  slowly 
descending,  settled  upon  the  brow  of  the  corpse,  lighting  up 
the  sunken  cavities  of  the  eyes  and  the  discoloured  and  distorted 
features. 

"  She  moves !  She  moves !  "  shouted  the  Senator  frantically. 
11  She  moves !  She  is  alive." 

"  Be  silent!  "  cried  Dom  Sabbat,  "else  mischief  may  ensue !" 

And  again  he  started  his  incantation. 

"  Down  on  your  knees !  "  he  exclaimed  at  length  with 
terrible  voice.  "  The  spirit  is  at  hand." 

There  was  a  rushing  sound  and  a  stream  of  white,  dazzling 


THE    INCANTATION 

light  shot  down  upon  the  corpse,  which  emitted  a  hollow 
groan.  In  obedience  to  Dom  Sabbat's  demand  Crescentius  had 
prostrated  himself  on  the  ground,  but  he  kept  his  gaze  steadily 
fixed  on  the  body,  which,  to  his  infinite  amazement,  slowly 
arose  until  it  stood  erect  upon  the  frame.  There  it  remained 
perfectly  motionless,  with  the  arms  close  to  the  sides  and  the 
habiliments  torn  and  dishevelled.  The  blue  light  still  retained 
its  position  upon  the  brow  and  communicated  a  horrible  glim 
mer  to  the  features.  The  spectacle  was  so  dreadful,  that 
Crescentius  would  have  averted  his  eyes,  but  he  was  unable  to 
do  so.  The  conjurer  and  his  familiar  meanwhile  continued 
their  invocations,  until,  as  it  seemed  to  the  Senator,  the  lips 
of  the  corpse  moved  and  a  voice  of  despair  exclaimed :  "  Why 
have  you  called  me  ?  " 

"  To  question  you  about  the  future !  "  replied  Dom  Sabbat 
rising. 

"  Speak  and  I  will  answer,"  replied  the  corpse. 

"  Ask  her,  —  but  be  brief;  —  her  time  is  short,"  said  Dom 
Sabbat,  addressing  the  Senator.  "  Only  as  long  as  that  flame 
burns,  have  I  power  over  her!  " 

"  What  is  her  name  ?  "  questioned  the  Senator. 

"Marozia!" 

The  Senator's  hand  went  to  his  forehead;  he  tottered  and 
almost  fell.  But  he  caught  himself. 

"  Spirit  of  Marozia,"  he  cried,  "  if  indeed  thou  standest 
before  me,  and  some  demon  has  not  entered  thy  frame  to 
delude  me,  —  by  all  that  is  holy,  and  by  every  blessed  saint  do 
I  adjure  thee  to  tell  me,  whether  the  scheme,  on  which  I  am 
now  engaged  for  the  glory  of  Rome,  will  prosper  ?  " 

"  Thou  art  mistaken,  Johannes  Crescentius,"  returned  the 
corpse.  "  Thy  scheme  is  not  for  the  glory  of  Rome !  " 

"  I  will  not  pause  to  argue  this  point,"  continued  the  Senator. 
"  Will  the  end  be  successful  ?  " 

"  The  end  will  be  death,"  replied  the  corpse. 

3T9 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

"  To  the  King  —  or  to  myself  ?  " 

"To  both!" 

"  Ha !  "  ejaculated  Crescentius,  breathing  hard.  **  To 
both!" 

"  Proceed  if  you  have  more  to  ask,  —  the  flame  is  expiring," 
cried  the  conjurer. 

"  And  —  Stephania  ?  "  But  he  could  not  utter  the  ques 
tion.  He  felt  like  one  choking. 

But  before  the  question  was  formed,  the  light  vanished  and 
a  heavy  sound  was  heard,  as  of  the  body  falling  on  the  frame. 

"  It  is  over !  "  said  Dom  Sabbat, 

"  Can  you  not  summon  her  again  ?  "  asked  Crescentius, 
in  a  tone  of  deep  disappointment.  "  I  must  know  that  other." 

"  Impossible,"  replied  the  conjurer.  "  The  spirit  has  flown 
and  cannot  be  recalled.  We  must  commit  the  body  to  the 
earth!" 

"  My  curiosity  is  excited,  —  not  satisfied,"  said  the  Senator. 
"  Would  it  were  to  occur  again !  " 

"  Thus  it  is  ever,"  replied  Dom  Sabbat.  "  We  seek  to  know 
that  which  is  forbidden,  and  quench  our  thirst  at  a  fount, 
which  but  inflames  our  curiosity  the  more.  You  have  em 
barked  on  a  perilous  enterprise ;  —  be  warned,  Senator  of 
Rome!  If  you  continue  to  pursue  it,  it  will  lead  you  to  per 
dition." 

"  I  cannot  retreat,"  replied  Crescentius.  "  And  I  would 
not,  if  I  could.  Death  to  both  of  us :  —  this  at  least  is  atone 
ment!  " 

"  I  warn  you  again,  —  if  you  persist,  you  are  lost!  " 

"  Impossible, —  I  cannot  retreat;  —  I  could  not,  if  I  would! 
By  no  sophistry  can  I  clear  my  conscience  of  the  ties  imposed 
upon  it.  I  have  sworn  never  to  desist  from  the  execution  of 
this  scheme,  never  —  never!  And  so  resolved  am  I,  that  if  1 
stood  alone  in  this  very  hour  —  I  would  go  on." 

"  You  stand  alone !  " 

320 


THE    INCANTATION 

No  one  knew  whence  the  voice  had  come.  The  three  stood 
appalled. 

A  deep  groan  issued  from  the  corpse. 

"  For  the  last  time,  —  be  warned !  "  expostulated  Dom 
Sabbat. 

"  Come  forth!  "  cried  Crescentius  rushing  towards  the  door. 
"  This  place  stifles  me !  "  And  he  unbolted  the  door  and  threw 
it  wide  open,  stepping  outside. 

The  moon  was  shining  brightly  from  a  deep  blue  azure. 
Before  him  stood  the  old  church  of  St.  Damian  bathed  in  the 
moonlight.  The  Senator  gazed  abstractedly  at  the  venerable 
structure,  then  he  re-entered  the  charnel-house,  where  he 
found  the  conjurer  and  his  companion  employed  hi  placing  the 
body  of  the  excommunicated  denizen  of  Castel  San  Angelo 
into  a  coffin,  which  they  had  taken  from  a  pile  hi  the  corner. 
He  immediately  proffered  his  assistance  and  in  a  short  space 
the  task  was  completed.  The  coffin  was  then  borne  toward  the 
grave,  at  the  edge  of  which  it  was  laid,  while  the  Dom  Sabbat 
mumbled  a  strange  Requiem  over  the  departed. 

This  ended,  it  was  laid  into  its  shallow  resting  place,  and 
speedily  covered  with  earth. 

When  all  was  ready  for  their  departure,  Dom  Sabbat  turned 
to  the  Senator  of  Rome,  bidding  him  farewell.  Declining  the 
proffered  gold,  he  observed : 

"  If  you  are  wise,  my  lord,  you  will  profit  by  the  awful  warn 
ing  you  have  this  night  received." 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  the  Senator  questioned  abruptly,  trying 
to  peer  through  the  cowl  which  the  adept  of  the  black  arts  had 
drawn  over  his  face,  "  since  the  devils  obey  your  beck  ?  " 

The  conjurer  laughed  a  soundless  laugh. 

"  Of  dominion  over  devils  I  am  innocent  —  since  I  rule  no 
men !  " 

At  the  entrance  of  the  churchyard,  Crescentius  parted  from 
the  conjurer  and  his  associate,  about  whose  personality  he 

321 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

had  not  troubled  himself,  and  returned  in  deep  rumination  to 
Castel  San  Angelo. 

No  sooner  had  the  Senator  of  Rome  departed,  than  the 
conjurer's  familiar  tore  the  trappings  from  his  person  and 
stood  revealed  to  his  companion  as  Benilo,  the  Chamberlain. 

"Dog!  Liar!  Impostor,"  he  hissed  into  Dom  Sabbat's 
face,  while  kicking  and  buffeting  him.  "  Marozia  has  been 
dead  some  fifty  years.  How  dare  you  perpetrate  this  monstrous 
fraud  ?  Was  it  this  I  bade  you  tell  the  Senator  of  Rome  ?  " 

Dom  Sabbat  cringed  before  the  blows  and  the  flaming  mad 
ness  in  the  Chamberlain's  eyes.  Folding  his  arms  over  his 
chest  and  bending  low  he  replied  with  feigned  contrition : 

"  It  was  not  for  me  to  compel  the  spirit's  answer !  And  as 
for  the  corpse,  'twas  Marozia's.  Thus  read  you  the  devil's 
favour.  Until  blessed  by  the  holy  rite,  the  body  cannot  return 
to  its  native  dust." 

"  Then  it  was  Marozia's  spirit  we  beheld  ?  "  Benilo  queried 
with  a  shudder,  as  they  left  the  churchyard. 

"  Marozia's  spirit,"  replied  Dom  Sabbat.  "  Yet  who  would 
raise  a  fabric  on  the  memory  of  a  lie  ?  " 


322 


CHAPTER  XII 


THE   HERMITAGE   OF   NILUS 


TEPHANIA'S  sleep  had  been 
broken  and  restless.  She  tossed 
and  turned  in  her  pillows  and 
pushed  back  the  hair  from  her 
fevered  cheeks  and  throbbing 
temples  in  vain.  It  was  weary 
work,  to  lie  gazing  with  eyes 
wide  open  at  the  flickering 
shadows  cast  by  the  night-lamp 
on  the  opposite  wall.  It  was 
stilJ  less  productive  of  sleep  to  shut  them  tight  and  to  abandon 
herself  to  the  visions  thus  evoked,  which  stood  out  hi  life-like 
colours  and  refused  to  be  dispelled. 

Do  what  she  would  to  forget  him,  to  conjure  up  some  other 
object  in  her  soul,  there  stood  the  son  of  Theophano,  towering 
like  a  demi-god  over  the  mean,  effeminate  throng  of  her 
countrymen.  Her  whole  being  had  changed  in  the  brief  space 
of  time,  since  first  they  had  met  face  to  face.  Then  the  woman's 
heart,  filled  with  implacable  hatred  of  that  imperial  phantom, 
which  had  twice  wrested  the  dominion  of  Rome  from  the 
Senator's  iron  grasp,  filled  with  hatred  of  the  unwelcome 
intruder,  had  given  one  great  bound  for  joy  at  the  certainty 
that  he  was  hers,  —  hers  to  deal  with  according  to  her  desire,  — 
that  he  had  not  withstood  the  vertigo  of  her  fateful  beauty. 
With  the  first  kiss  she  had  imprinted  on  his  lips,  she  had 
dedicated  him  to  the  Erynnies,  —  it  was  not  enough  to  van- 

323 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

quish,  she  must  break  his  heart.    Thus  only  would  her  victory 
be  complete. 

What  a  terrible  change  had  come  over  her  now!  All  she 
possessed,  all  she  called  her  own,  she  would  gladly  have  given 
to  undo  what  she  had  done.  For  the  first  time,  as  with  the 
lightning's  glare,  the  terrible  chasm  was  revealed  to  her,  at 
the  brink  of  which  she  stood.  Strange  irony  of  fate!  Slowly 
but  surely  she  had  felt  the  hatred  of  Otto  vanish  from  her  heart. 
He  had  bared  his  own  before  her,  she  had  penetrated  the 
remotest  depths  of  his  soul.  She  had  read  him  as  an  open  book. 
And  as  she  revolved  in  her  own  mind  the  sordid  aspirations  of 
those  she  called  her  countrymen,  the  promptings  of  tyrants 
and  oppressors,  —  thrown  in  the  scales  against  the  pure  and 
lofty  ideals  of  the  King,  —  a  flush  of  shame  drove  the  pallor 
from  her  cheeks  and  caused  hot  tears  of  remorse  to  well  up 
from  the  depths  of  her  eyes. 

For  the  first  time  the  whole  enormity  of  what  she  had  done, 
of  the  scheme  to  which  she  had  lent  herself,  flashed  upon  her, 
and  with  it  a  wave  of  hot  resentment  rushed  through  her  heart. 
Her  own  blind  hate  and  the  ever-present  consciousness  of  the 
low  estate  to  which  the  one-time  powerful  house  of  Crescentius 
had  fallen,  had  prompted  her  to  accept  the  trust,  to  commit 
the  deed  for  which  she  despised  herself.  Would  the  youth, 
whom  she  was  to  lead  the  sure  way  to  perdition,  have  chosen 
such  means  to  attain  his  ends  ?  And  what  would  he  say  to  her 
at  that  fatal  moment,  when  all  his  illusions  would  be  shattered 
to  atoms,  his  dreams  destroyed  and  his  heart  broken  ?  Would 
he  not  curse  her  for  ever  having  crossed  his  path  ?  Would  he 
not  tear  the  memory  of  the  woman  from  his  heart,  who  had 
trifled  with  its  most  sacred  heavings  ?  He  would  die,  but  she ! 
She  must  live  —  live  beside  the  man  for  whom  she  had  sinned, 
for  whose  personal  ends  she  had  spun  this  gigantic  web  of 
deception.  Otto  would  die :  —  he  would  not  survive  the  shock 
of  the  revelation.  His  sensitive,  finely-strung  temperament  was 

324 


THE    HERMITAGE   OF   NILUS 

not  proof  against  such  unprecedented  treachery.  What  the 
Senator's  shafts  and  catapults  had  failed  to  achieve,  —  the 
Senator's  wife  would  have  accomplished !  But  the  glory  of  the 
deed  ?  "  Gloria  Victis,"  he  had  said  to  her  when  she  pointed  the 
chances  of  defeat.  "  Gloria  Victis  "  —  and  she  must  live ! 

Otto  loved  her ;  —  with  a  love  so  passionate  and  enduring 
that  even  death  would  mock  at  separation.  —  They  would 
belong  to  each  other  ever  after.  It  was  not  theirs  to  choose. 
It  seemed  to  her  as  if  they  had  been  destined  for  each  other 
from  the  begin  of  time,  as  if  their  souls  had  been  one,  even 
before  their  birth.  And  all  the  trust  reposed  in  her,  all  the  love 
given  to  her  —  how  was  she  about  to  requite  them?  Were 
her  countrymen  worthy  the  terrible  sacrifice  ?  Was  Crescen- 
tius,  her  husband  ?  Had  his  rule  ennobled  him  ?  Had  his 
rule  ennobled  the  Romans  ?  Were  the  motives  not  purely 
personal  ? 

She  knew  she  had  gone  too  far  to  recede.  And  even  if  she 
would,  nothing  could  now  save  the  German  King.  The 
avalanche  which  had  been  started  could  not  be  stopped.  The 
forces  arrayed  against  Teutonic  rule  now  defied  the  control  of 
him  who  had  evoked  them.  How  could  she  save  the  King  ? 

Salvation  for  him  lay  only  in  immediate  flight  from  Rome ! 
The  very  thought  was  madness.  He  would  never  consent. 
Not  all  his  love  for  her  could  prompt  a  deed  of  cowardice. 
He  would  remain  and  perish,  —  and  his  blood  would  be 
charged  to  her  account  in  the  book  of  final  judgment. 

How  long  were  these  dreadful  hours!  They  seemed  never 
ending  like  eternity.  A  moan  broke  from  Stephania's  lips. 
She  hid  her  burning  face  in  her  white  arms.  Oh,  the  misery 
of  this  fatal  love!  There  was  no  resisting  it,  there  was  no 
renouncing  it ;  —  ever  present  in  her  soul,  omnipotent  in  her 
heart,  it  would  not  even  cease  with  death;  yea,  perhaps  this 
was  but  the  beginning.  —  Would  she  survive  the  terrible  hour 
of  the  final  trial,  when,  a  second  Delilah,  she  called  the  Philis- 

325 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

tines  down  upon  her  trusting  foe  ?  She  moaned  and  tossed 
as  in  the  agues  of  a  fever  and  only  towards  the  gray  dawn  of 
morning  she  fell  into  a  fitful  slumber. 

The  preparations  for  his  last  rebellion  against  German  rule 
had  kept  the  Senator  of  Rome  within  the  walls  of  the  formidable 
keep,  which  since  the  days  of  Vitiges,  the  Goth,  had  defied 
every  assault,  no  matter  who  the  assailant.  Crescentius  had 
succeeded  hi  repairing  the  breaches  in  the  walls  and  in  strength 
ening  the  defences  in  a  manner,  which  would  cause  every 
attempt  to  carry  the  mausoleum  by  storm  to  appear  an  under 
taking  as  mad  as  it  was  hopeless.  He  had  augmented  his 
Roman  garrison,  swelled  by  the  men-at-arms  of  the  Roman 
barons  pledged  to  his  support,  by  Greek  auxiliaries,  drawn  from 
Torre  del  Grecco,  and  under  his  own  personal  supervision  the 
final  preparations  were  being  pushed  to  a  close.  His  activity 
was  so  strenuous  that  he  appeared  to  be  in  the  vaults  and  the 
upper  galleries  of  Castel  San  Angelo  at  the  same  time.  He  had 
been  seized  with  a  restlessness  which  did  not  permit  him  to 
remain  long  on  any  one  spot.  But  the  terrible  misgivings 
which  filled  his  heart  with  drear  forebodings,  which,  now  it 
was  too  late  to  recede,  caused  him  to  tremble  before  the  final 
issue,  drove  the  Senator  of  Rome  like  a  madman  through  the 
corridors  of  the  huge  mausoleum.  Had  he  in  truth  lost  the 
love  of  his  wife  ?  Then  indeed  was  the  victory  of  the  son  of 
Theophano  complete.  He  had  robbed  him  of  all,  but  life  - 
a  life  whose  last  spark  should  ignite  the  funeral  torches  for 
the  King  and,  —  if  it  must  be  —  for  Rome. 

The  day  was  fading  fast,  when  Crescentius  mounted  the 
stairs  which  led  to  Stephania's  apartments.  His  heart  was 
heavy  with  fear.  This  hour  must  set  matters  right  between 
them ;  —  in  this  hour  he  must  know  the  worst,  —  and  from 
her  own  lips.  She  would  not  fail  him  at  the  final  issue,  of 
that,  as  he  knew  her  proud  spirit,  he  was  convinced.  But 
what  availed  that  final  issue,  if  he  had  lost  the  one  jewel 


THE    HERMITAGE    OF    NILUS 

in  his  crown,  without  which  the  crown  itself  was  idle 
mockery  ? 

Stephania's  apartments  were  deserted.  Where  was  his 
wife  ?  She  never  used  to  leave  the  Castello  without  inf orming 
him  of  the  goal  of  her  journey.  Times  were  uncertain  and 
the  precaution  well  justified.  With  loud  voice  the  Senator  of 
Rome  called  for  Stephania's  tirewoman.  Receiving  no  im 
mediate  reply,  a  terrible  thought  rushed  through  his  head. 
Perhaps  she  was  even  now  with  him,  —  with  Otto !  In  its 
undiminished  vividness  the  scene  at  the  Neptune  temple  arose 
before  him.  What  availed  it  to  rave  and  to  moan  and  to 
shriek  ?  Was  it  not  his  own  doing,  —  rather  the  counsel  of 
one  who  perhaps  rejoiced  hi  his  discomfiture  ?  Crescentius* 
hand  went  to  his  head.  Was  such  black  treachery  conceiv 
able  ?  Could  Benilo,  —  but  no !  Not  even  the  fiend  incarnate 
would  hatch  out  such  a  plot,  tossing  on  a  burning  pillow  of 
anguish  in  sleepless  midnight. 

He  was  about  to  retrace  his  steps  below,  when  the  individual 
desired,  Stephania's  tirewoman,  appeared  and  informed  the 
Senator  that  her  mistress  had  but  just  left,  to  seek  an  interview 
with  her  confessor.  A  momentary  sigh  of  relief  came  from  the 
lips  of  Crescentius.  His  fears  had  perhaps  been  groundless, 
Still  he  felt  the  imperative  necessity  to  obtain  proof  posi 
tive  of  her  innocence  or  guilt.  Thus  only  could  his  soul  find 
rest. 

Stephania  had  gone  to  her  confessor.  Fate  itself  would 
never  again  throw  such  an  opportunity  in  his  way.  And  he 
made  such  good  speed,  that,  when  he  came  within  sight  of  the 
ruins  of  the  baths  of  Caracalla,  he  perceived  by  the  advancing 
torches,  which  the  guards  accompanying  her  litter  carried, 
that  she  had  not  yet  reached  her  destination. 

Approaching  closer,  he  saw  them  halt  near  the  ruins  and  in 
a  few  moments  a  woman,  wrapt  in  a  dark  mantilla,  stepped 
from  her  litter,  received  by  a  bubbling,  gesticulating  monk, 

327 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

in  whom  the  Senator  immediately  recognized  Fra  Biccocco, 
the  companion  of  Nilus.  Escorted  by  him,  she  walked  hastily 
into  the  ruins,  and  was  soon  lost  to  sight  in  their  intricate 
windings. 

Recalling  the  observations  he  had  made  on  a  previous 
visit,  Crescentius  wound  his  way  from  the  rear  to  the  same 
point,  so  that  none  of  Stephania's  retinue,  who  were  laughing 
and  chatting  among  themselves,  discerned  him  or  even  dis 
covered  his  presence.  Then  he  rapidly  threaded  his  way  to  the 
chamber  through  which  Fra  Biccocco  and  Stephania  had  just 
passed,  boldly  followed  them  into  the  clearing,  from  which 
Nilus'  cell  was  reached,  and  concealed  himself  in  the  long  grass 
until  Biccocco  returned  from  the  hermit's  cell.  Then  he  ap 
proached  the  monk's  hermitage  and  took  up  his  post  of  ob 
servation  in  the  shadows,  out  of  sight  but  able  to  hear  every 
word  which  would  be  exchanged  between  Nilus  and  his  con 
fessor. 

The  monk  of  Gaeta  had  been  far  from  anticipating  a  visitor 
at  this  late  hour.  Seated  at  his  stone  table,  he  had  been  read 
ing  some  illuminated  manuscript,  when  he  suddenly  laid  down 
the  scroll  and  listened.  The  perfect  stillness  of  the  deserted 
Aventine  permitted  some  breathings  of  remote  music  from 
the  distant  groves  of  Theodora  to  strike  his  ear,  and  after 
listening  for  a  time,  he  arose  and  traversed  his  cell  with  rapid 
steps.  He  was  about  to  reseat  himself  and  to  continue  his 
disquisition  by  the  pale,  flickering  light  of  the  candle  burning 
before  a  crucifix,  when  voices  were  audible  and  Biccocco 
entered,  having  scarcely  time  to  announce  Stephania,  ere  she 
followed. 

"  Good  even,  Father,  —  be  not  startled,  —  I  was  returning 
from  my  gardens  of  Egeria  and  I  have  brought  your  altar  some 
of  its  choicest  flowers,"  she  said  in  a  hushed  and  timid  voice, 
while  at  the  same  time  she  offered  the  monk  some  beautiful 
white  roses  of  a  late  bloom.  "  Moreover,  I  would  speak  a  few 

328 


THE    HERMITAGE    OF    NILUS 

words  alone  with  you,  —  alone  with  you,  —  Father  Biccocco, — 
with  your  permission." 

Biccocco,  looking  at  her,  as  she  threw  back  her  mantle  from 
her  shoulders,  respectfully  prepared  to  obey,  almost  wondering 
that  there  could  be  on  earth  anything  so  wondrously  beautiful 
as  this  woman. 

"  Biccocco,  I  command  thee,  stay ! "  exclaimed  Nilus 
starting  up.  "I  would  say  —  nay,  daughter  —  is  it  thou  ?  I 
knew  not  at  first,  —  my  sight  is  dim  —  Biccocco,  let  no  one 
trouble  me  —  but  tears  ?  What  ails  our  gentle  penitent  ? 
Has  she  forgotten  a  whole  string  of  Aves  ?  Or  what  heavier 
offence  ?  It  was  but  yesterday  I  counselled  thee,  —  but  a 
few  hours  are  so  much  to  a  woman.  —  Wherefore  glow  thy 
cheeks  with  the  fires  of  shame  ?  Biccocco  —  leave  us!  " 

"  Father,  I  have  sinned  —  yea,  grievouly  sinned  hi  these 
few  hours,  since  I  have  seen  thee,"  said  Stephania,  when  the 
restraint  of  Biccocco's  presence  was  removed,  little  suspecting 
what  listener  had  succeeded.    "  I  have  sinned  and  I  repent,  — 
but  even  hi  my  offence  lies  my  greatest  chastisement." 

"  Art  well  assured,  that  it  is  remorse,  and  not  regret  ?  " 
replied  the  hermit  of  Gaeta.  "  Thy  sex  often  mistakes  one  for 
the  other.  But  what  is  the  matter  ?  Surely  it  might  not  pre 
vent  thee  from  taking  thy  needful  rest,  might  bide  the  light 
of  day,  to  be  told,  —  to  be  listened  to,  —  yet  —  thou  art 
strangely  pale !  " 

"  I  have  been  mad,  father,  crazed,  —  I  know  not  what  I 
have  done !  I  dare  not  look  upon  thee,  and  tell  thee !  Let  me 
arrange  my  flowers  in  thy  chalice,  while  I  speak,"  replied 
Stephania,  hiding  her  face  in  the  fragrant  bundle. 

"  Not  so !  "  replied  the  monk.  "  Eye  and  gesture  often 
confess  more  than  the  apologizing  lip!  Kneel  hi  thy  wonted 
place !  No  other  attitude  becomes  thy  dignity  or  mine ;  —  for 
either  thou  kneelest  to  the  servant  of  God  or  thou  debasest 
thyself  before  the  brother  of  man !  " 

329 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

Stephania  complied  instantly,  and  Nilus,  throwing  himself 
back  in  his  chair,  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  crucifix  before  him, 
without  even  glancing  at  the  penitent. 

"  Father  —  you  had  warned  me  of  all  the  ills  that  would 
befall,"  she  began,  almost  inaudibly,  "  but  I  longed  to  see  him 
at  my  feet,  —  and  more,  —  much  more !  " 

"  What  is  all  this  ?  "  said  the  monk  turning  very  pale  and 
glancing  at  his  fair  penitent  with  a  degree  of  fierceness  mingled 
with  surprise. 

"Ah!  You  know  not  what  a  woman  feels,  —  when  — 
when  —  "  She  paused,  breathing  hard. 

"  Hast  thou  then  committed  a  deadly  sin  ?  Some  dark 
adultery  of  the  soul  ?  "  exclaimed  Nilus.  "  Nay,  daughter," 
he  continued,  as  she  shrank  within  herself  at  his  words,  "  I 
speak  too  harshly  now !  But  what  more  hast  to  say  ?  Time 
wears  —  and  this  soft  cheek  should  be  upon  the  down,  or  its 
sweetness  will  not  bloom  as  freshly  as  some  of  its  rivals,  at 
dawn.  Thou  see'st  this  hermitage,  from  which  thou  wouldst 
lure  me,  yields  some  recollections  to  brighten  its  desolation 
and  gloom.  What  is  it  thou  wouldst  say  ?  " 

Stephania  stared  for  a  moment  into  the  monk's  face,  at  a 
loss  to  grasp  his  meaning.  At  last  she  stammered. 

"  Yet  —  I  but  intended  to  win  him  to  —  some  silly  tryst,  - 
wherein  I  intended  to  deride  his  boyish  passions." 

"  And  he  refused  thy  lures  and  thou  art  vexed  to  have  escaped 
perdition  ?  "  said  the  monk,  more  mildly. 

"  Nay  —  for  he  came !  " 

"  He  came !  Jest  not  in  a  matter  like  this !  He  came  ? 
Thou  knowest  of  all  mankind  I  have  reasons  to  wish  this  youth 
well,  —  this  one  at  least!  "  said  Nilus  somewhat  incoherently. 

"  He  came,  —  once,  —  twice,  —  many  times !  He  came, 
I  say,  and  —  " 

"  What  of  him  ?  Thou  hast  not  had  him  harmed  for 
trusting  his  enemy  ?  " 

330 


THE    HERMITAGE    OF    NILUS 

Stephania's  cheek  took  the  hues  of  marble. 

"  Harmed  ?  I  would  rather  perish  myself  than  that  he 
should  come  to  harm." 

Nilus  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  Stephania,  as  if 
to  take  courage,  timidly  took  his  hand,  holding  it  between  her 
own. 

"  I  must  needs  avow  my  whole  offence,"  she  stammered, 
"  he  came,  —  and  — 

"  Why  dost  pause,  daughter  ?  "  questioned  the  monk,  with 
penetrating  look. 

"  Nay  —  but  hear  me !  "  continued  Stephania.  "  I  first  in 
tended  but  to  win  his  confidence,  —  then,  —  having  drawn 
him  out  —  expose  him  to  the  just  laughter  of  my  court." 

"  A  most  womanly  deed !  But  where  did  this  meeting  take 
place  ?  " 

"  In  the  Grottos  of  Egeria!  " 

"  In  the  Grottos  of  Egeria!  "  the  monk  repeated  aghast. 

"  And  then,"  she  continued  with  a  great  sadness  in  her 
tone,  "  I  never  felt  so  strangely  mad,  —  I  would  have  him  share 
some  offence,  to  justify  the  clamour  I  had  provided,  scarcely 
I  know  how  to  believe  it  now  myself.  —  I  did  to  his  lips,  — 
what  I  now  do  to  your  hand." 

And  she  kissed  the  monk's  yellow  hand  with  timid  reverence. 

"  Thou!    Thou!  Stephania,  —  the  wife  of  Crescentius,  and 
not  yet  set  in  the  first  line  of  the  book  of  shame!  "  shouted  the 
monk,  convulsively  starting  at  every  word  of  his  own  climax. 
"  Begone  —  begone !  The  vessel  is  full,  even  to  overflowing !  - 
Tell  me  no  more,  —  tell  me  no  more !  " 

"  Your  suspicion  indeed  shows  me  all  my  ignominy,"  said 
Stephania,  groping  for  his  hand,  which  he  had  snatched 
furiously  away.  "  But  he  only  suffered  it,  —  because  he 
guessed  not  my  intent  in  the  darkness." 

"  In  the  darkness  ?  " 

"  In  the  darkness." 

331 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

"  Deemest  them  it  possible  to  clasp  the  plague  and  to  evade 
the  contagion  ?  "  questioned  the  monk.  "  Woman,  I  com 
mand  thee,  stop!  Stop  ere  the  condemning  angel  closes  the 
record !  " 

Stephania  raised  her  head  petulantly. 

"  Monk,  thou  knowest  not  all!  During  all  this  meeting  the 
Senator  of  Rome  was  present  in  the  Grotto  and  watched  us 
from  one  of  the  ivy  hollows  in  the  cave !  " 

"  The  Senator  of  Rome !  "  exclaimed  the  monk  with  evident 
amazement.  "  How  came  he  there  ?  " 

"  By  contrivance !  " 

"  I  do  not  understand !  " 

"  It  was  at  his  behest  that  I  have  done  the  deed,  to  further 
his  vast  projects,  call  it  his  ambition,  if  you  will  —  to  which 
the  King  is  the  stumbling  block.  Ask  me  no  more,  —  for  I 
will  not  answer!  " 

Nilus  seemed  struck  dumb  by  the  revelation. 

"  Take  comfort,  daughter,  he  cannot,  —  he  cannot  —  " 
whispered  the  monk,  bending  over  her  and  speaking  in  so  low 
a  tone  that  the  devouring  listener  could  not  distinguish  one 
word. 

For  a  time  not  a  word  was  to  be  heard,  Nilus  inclining  his 
ear  to  Stephania's  lips,  whose  confession  was  oft  times  broken 
by  sobs. 

"  Tell  me  all,  —  all!  "  said  the  monk. 

"  As  the  fatal  hour  approaches  the  strength  begins  to  for 
sake  me,  —  I  cannot  do  it !  "  she  groaned. 

"  Yet  he  is  the  enemy  of  Rome,  so  you  say,"  the  monk 
said  mockingly. 

"  He  is  the  friend  of  Rome  and  —  I  love  him !  " 

In  a  shriek  the  last  words  broke  from  her  lips. 

"  Domine  an  me  reliquisti !  "  shouted  the  monk.  "  Some 
sign  now  —  some  sign  —  or  —  " 

His  raving  exclamation  was  cut  short  by  a  sound  not  unlike 

332 


THE    HERMITAGE    OF    NILUS 

the  oracle  implored.  A  large  block  of  stone,  dislodged  by  a 
sudden  and  violent  movement  of  the  unseen  listener,  rolled 
with  a  hollow  rumble  down  into  the  vaults  below. 

The  monk  started  up  from  the  benediction  which  he  was 
bending  forward  to  pronounce,  almost  dashed  Stephania 
away,  rushed  to  his  altar  and  casting  himself  prostrate  before 
the  divine  symbol  which  adorned  it,  he  muttered  in  a  frantic 
ecstasy  of  devotion: 

"  Gloria  Domino !  Gloria  in  Excelsis !  Blessed  be  Thy 
name  for  ever  and  ever!  Praise  ye  the  Lord!  He  saves  in 
the  furnace  of  fire !  " 

Stephania  gazed  in  mute  amazement  at  the  monk.  His 
frantic  appeal  and  its  apparent  fulfilment  had  struck  dismay 
into  her  soul,  and  when  at  length  he  raised  himself,  and  turned 
towards  her,  she  could  hardly  find  words  to  speak. 

But  Nilus  waved  his  hand. 

"Go  now,  Stephania,"  he  commanded.  "Go!  I  will 
devise  some  fitting  penance  at  more  leisure." 

"  But,  Father  —  my  request." 

"  Ay,  truly,"  he  replied,  with  supreme  melancholy.  "  Is 
it  not  the  wont  of  the  world  to  throw  away  the  flower,  when 
we  have  withered  it  with  our  evil  breath  ?  " 

"  But  I  cannot  do  it,  —  I  cannot  do  it,"  Stephania  moaned, 
raising  her  hands  imploringly  to  the  monk. 

"  It  is  for  a  mightier  than  Nilus  to  counsel,"  the  monk 
spoke  mournfully.  "  Thou  standest  on  the  brink  of  a  preci 
pice,  from  which  nothing  but  the  direct  intervention  of  Heaven 
can  save  thee !  Pray  to  the  Immaculate  One  for  enlightenment, 
and  If  the  words  of  a  monk  have  weight  with  thee,  even  against 
him,  thou  callest  thy  lord  before  the  world,  —  desist,  ere 
thou  art  engulfed  in  the  black  abyss,  which  yawns  at  thy  feet.  — 
When  he  is  dead,  it  will  be  too  late !  " 

And  raising  his  lamp,  to  escort  Stephania  to  her  litter,  the 
monk  and  the  woman  left  the  chamber,  and  Crescentius  had 

333 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

barely  time  to  conceal  himself  behind  the  boulders  ere  they 
appeared  and  passed  by  him,  the  monk  anxiously  guiding 
every  step  of  his  penitent. 

The  moon  was  sinking,  when  Stephania  arrived  at  Castel 
San  Angelo. 

Taking  the  candle  from  the  hands  of  the  page,  who  had 
awaited  her  return  with  sleepy  eyes,  she  dismissed  him  and 
passed  into  the  lofty  hall,  dark  and  chill  as  a  cellar,  beyond 
which  lay  the  Senator's,  her  husband's,  apartments.  She 
swiftly  traversed  the  hall,  —  then  she  hesitated.  No  doubt 
he  was  asleep.  What  good  was  there  in  waking  him  ?  As 
she  turned  to  retrace  her  steps  to  her  own  chamber,  a  strange 
and  eerie  gust  of  wind  swept  shrieking  round  the  battlements, 
howled  in  the  chimney,  invaded  the  chamber  with  icy  breath 
and  almost  extinguished  the  candle.  Then  there  was  a  great 
hush.  It  seemed  to  her  she  could  hear  distant  music  from  the 
Aventine,  the  murmur  of  voices,  the  sound  of  iron  chains  from 
the  vaults  below.  To  this,  —  or  to  death,  —  she  had  consigned 
the  son  of  Theophano,  the  boy-king,  who  loved  her.  —  To 
this  ?  —  Anguish  and  terror  seized  her  soul.  She  felt,  she 
must  not  move  —  must  not  look.  There  it  stood,  —  blacker 
than  the  investing  darkness,  —  its  head  bent,  —  shrouded  in 
the  cowl  of  a  monk.  What  was  it  ?  Once  before  she  had  seen 
it,  —  then  it  had  faded  away  in  the  gloom.  But  misfortune 
rode  invariably  in  its  wake.  She  tried  to  scream,  to  call  the 
page,  but  her  voice  choked  in  her  throat.  She  staggered  toward 
the  door ;  her  limbs  refused  to  support  her ;  —  groaning  she 
covered  her  eyes.  Otto  down  there,  —  or  dead,  —  why  had 
she  never  thought  of  it  before  ?  Now  the  monk  made  a  step 
toward  her;  the  face  had  nothing  corpse-like  in  it,  nothing 
appalling,  yet  she  felt  a  freezing  and  unearthly  cold;  almost 
faulting  she  staggered  up  the  narrow  winding  stairs.  And 
entering  her  lofty  chamber  Stephania  fell  unconscious  upon 
her  couch. 

334 


THE    HERMITAGE    OF   NILUS 

After  Crescentius  had  returned  from  the  hermitage  of  Nilus, 
he  gave  strict  orders  to  the  guards  of  Castel  San  Angelo  to 
admit  no  one,  no  matter  who  might  crave  an  audience,  and 
entering  his  own  chamber,  he  lighted  a  candle.  He  had  seen 
and  heard,  and  he  knew  that  the  heart  of  his  wife  had  gone  from 
him  for  ever !  At  the  terrible  certainty  he  grew  dizzy.  A  fearful 
price  he  had  paid  for  his  perfidy,  —  and  now,  there  was  no 
one  in  all  the  world  he  could  trust.  He  dared  not  speak.  He 
dared  not  even  breathe  his  anguish.  She  must  never  know 
that  he  knew  all,  —  no  one  must  know.  His  lips  must  be 
sealed.  The  world  should  never  point  at  him,  —  for  this  at 
least ! 

But  terrible  as  his  suffering  must  be  his  vengeance.  He 
who  had  robbed  him  of  his  priceless  gem,  the  wife  of  his 
soul,  all  he  loved  on  earth,  —  he  should  languish  and  rot 
under  her  very  chambers,  where  she  might  nightly  hear  his 
groans,  without  daring  to  plead  for  him.  There  was  no  further 
time  for  parley.  The  stroke  must  fall  at  once !  Too  long  had  he 
tarried.  The  Rubicon  was  passed. 

Pacing  up  and  down  the  gloomy  chamber,  Crescentius 
paused  before  the  sand-clock.  It  was  near  midnight.  Yet 
sleep  was  far  from  caressing  his  aching  lids,  as  far  as  balm 
from  his  aching  heart.  He  raised  the  candle  in  an  unconscious 
effort,  to  go  to  his  wife's  apartment.  He  lingered.  Then  he 
placed  the  candle  down  again  and  seated  himself  in  a  chair. 
His  gaze  fell  upon  a  broad  stain  on  the  floor  and  like  one 
fascinated  he  followed  its  least  meander  to  a  distance  of  several 
feet  from  the  door,  when  suddenly  a  form  met  his  eyes,  whether 
the  off -spring  of  his  delirious  fancy  or  one  of  those  inexplicable 
and  tremendous  phenomena,  which  are  incapable  of  human 
solution,  while  the  secrets  of  death  remain  such.  His  garb 
was  that  of  a  monk;  the  face  bore  the  awful  pallor  of 
the  tomb,  and  a  mournful  tenderness  seemed  to  struggle 
with  the  rigidity  of  death.  The  phantom,  if  such  it  was, 

335 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

stood  perfectly  motionless  between  Crescentius  and  the  couch, 
in  a  few  moments  it  grew  indistinct  and  finally  faded  into 
air. 

It  was  then  only,  that  Crescentius  recovered  breath  and 
life,  and  staggered  back  to  his  chair.  A  few  moments'  rally 
persuaded  him  that  what  he  had  seen  had  been  merely  the 
illusion  of  his  excited  organs.  But  a  dreadful  longing  for 
death  assailed  him,  a  longing  like  that  which  prompts  men 
to  leap  when  they  gaze  down  a  precipice.  He  rose,  —  again 
the  phantom  seemed  there,  —  this  time  distinct  and  clear. 
Terror  rendered  him  motionless;  the  room  seemed  to  whirl 
round,  a  million  lights  danced  in  his  eyes,  then  he  sank  back 
covering  his  face  with  his  hands. 

When  he  again  opened  his  eyes,  his  brain  seemed  shooting 
with  the  keenest  darts  of  pain.  He  endeavoured  to  pray, 
but  could  not.  His  ideas  rushed  confusedly  through  each 
other.  The  taper  was  fast  sinking  in  the  socket,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  his  mind  would  sink  with  it.  He  emptied  a  goblet  of 
wine  which  stood  upon  the  table,  and  strove  to  remember 
what  he  intended  to  do.  It  seemed  a  vain  effort  and  he  fell 
back  hi  his  chair  into  a  semi-conscious  doze.  An  hour  might 
have  passed  thus,  when  he  became  aware  of  a  slight  crackling 
noise  in  his  ears  and  starting  with  a  sensation  of  cold  he  looked 
round.  The  fire  in  the  chimney  had  burnt  into  red  embers, 
and  though  his  own  form  was  lost  in  the  shadow  of  the  chimney, 
the  rest  of  the  room  was  faintly  illumined  by  the  crimson 
glow  from  the  grate. 

Suddenly  he  saw  the  tapestry  figure  of  some  mythical 
deity  opposite  his  own  seat  stir;  the  tapestry  swelled  out, 
then  a  head  appeared,  which  peered  cautiously  round.  The 
body  soon  followed  the  head,  and  Crescentius  rose  with  a  sigh 
of  relief  as  he  stood  face  to  face  with  Benilo.  The  Chamber 
lain's  face  was  pale;  his  eyes,  with  their  unsteady  glow, 
showed  traces  of  wakefulness.  He  took  from  his  doublet  a 

336 


THE   HERMITAGE    OF    NILUS 

scroll  which  he  placed  into  the  outstretched  hand  of  the  Senator 
of  Rome.  Mechanically  Crescentius  unrolled  it.  His  hands 
trembled  as  he  superficially  swept  its  contents. 

"  The  barons  pledge  their  support, —  not  a  name  is  missing," 
Benilo  broke  the  silence  in  hushed  tones. 

"  What  is  it  to  be  ?  "  questioned  Crescentius. 

"  I  speak  for  the  extreme  course  and  for  Rome.   For  attack  — 
sudden  and  swift !  " 

There  was  a  pause,  Crescentius  stared  into  the  dying 
embers. 

"  Are  all  your  plans  complete  ?  " 

"  The  Romans  wait  impatiently  upon  my  words.  At  the 
signal  all  Rome  will  rise  to  arms!  " 

"  But  how  about  the  Romans  ?  Can  they  be  depended 
upon  ?  " 

"  I  move  them  at  the  raising  of  my  hand !  " 

There  was  another  pause. 

Crescentius  appeared  strangely  abstracted. 

"  But  what  of  Otto  ?  What  of  Eckhardt  ?  Do  they  scent 
the  wind  from  Castel  San  Angelo  ?  " 

"  As  for  the  Saxon  cherub,"  Benilo  replied  with  a  disgusting 
smile,  "  he  is  dreaming  of  his  —  " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for  Crescentius  cast  such  a 
terrible  look  upon  him,  that  the  blood  froze  in  the  traitor's 
veins,  and  his  eyes  sank  before  those  blazing  upon  him.  After 
a  moment's  hesitation  he  continued,  the  shadow  of  a  forced 
smile  hovering  round  his  thin,  quivering  lips: 

"  When  he  is  dead,  we  shall  cause  the  Wonder-child  to  be 
canonized !  " 

But  Crescentius  was  in  no  jocular  mood. 

"  Have  you  chosen  your  men  ?  "  he  queried  curtly. 

"  They  will  be  stationed  in  the  labyrinth  of  the  Minotaurus," 
Benilo  replied.  "  At  the  signal  agreed  upon,  they  will  rush 
forth  and  seize  the  King  —  " 

337 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

As  he  spoke  those  words  the  Chamberlain  gazed  timidly  into 
the  Senator's  face. 

"  The  signal  will  not  fail,"  Crescentius  replied  firmly. 

"  Is  the  mausoleum  prepared  to  withstand  an  assault  ?  " 
Benilo  questioned  guardedly. 

"  The  hidden  balistae  have  been  disinterred.  My  Albanian 
stradiotes  and  the  Romagnole  guards  occupy  the  chief 
approaches.  The  upper  galleries  are  reserved  for  our  Roman 
allies.  They  will  never  scale  these  walls  while  Crescentius 
lives.  Remember  —  the  gates  of  Rome  are  to  be  closed.  We 
will  smother  the  Saxon  under  our  caresses !  I  must  have  Otto 
dead  or  alive!  Revenge  and  Death  are  now  written  on  my 
standards!  Up  with  the  flag  of  rebellion  and  perdition  to  the 
emperor  and  his  hosts!  " 

The  gray  dawn  was  peeping  into  the  windows  of  the  Senator's 
chamber,  when  Crescentius  sought  his  couch  for  a  brief  and 
fitful  repose. 


338 


CHAPTER  XIII 


THE   LION   OF   BASALT 

T  was  midnight  of  a  dark  and 
still  evening  on  the  Tiber  and 
peace  had  for  the  most  part 
descended  upon  the  great  city. 
The  lamps  hi  the  houses  were 
extinguished  and  the  challenges 
of  the  watch  alone  were  now 
and  then  to  be  heard.  The 
streets  were  deserted,  for  few 
ventured  abroad  after  night 
fall.  Sluggishly  the  turbid  tide  of  the  Tiber  rolled  towards 
ancient  Portus.  The  moon  was  hidden  behind  heavy  cloud- 
banks,  and  when  now  and  then  it  pierced  a  rift  hi  the  nebulous 
masses,  it  shed  a  spectral  light  over  the  silent  hills,  but  to 
plunge  them  back  into  abysmal  darkness. 

The  bells  from  distant  cloisters  and  convents  were  pealing 
the  midnight  hour  when  out  of  the  gloom  of  the  waters  there 
passed  a  light  skiff  wherein  were  seated  two  men,  closely 
wrapped  in  their  long,  dark  cloaks.  The  one  seated  on  the 
prow  was  bent  almost  double  with  age,  and  his  long  beard 
swept  the  bottom  of  the  skiff.  He  appeared  indifferent  to  his 
surroundings  and  stared  straight  before  him  into  the  darkness, 
while  his  companion,  constantly  on  the  alert,  never  seemed  to 
take  his  eyes  from  the  boatman  who  plied  his  oars  in  silence, 
causing  the  frail  craft  to  descend  the  river  with  great  swiftness. 
At  last  they  made  for  the  shore.  An  extensive  mansion 
loomed  out  of  the  gloom,  which  seemed  to  be  the  goal  of  their 

339 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

journey.  Obeying  the  whispered  directions  of  the  taller  of 
his  passengers,  the  boatman  steered  his  craft  under  a  dark 
archway,  whence  a  flight  of  stairs  led  up  to  the  door,  of  what 
appeared  to  be  a  garden  pavilion.  Swiftly  the  sculler  shot  under 
the  arch  and  in  another  moment  drew  up  by  the  stairs. 

Leaning  heavily  on  the  arm  of  his  companion  the  sooth 
sayer  alighted  from  the  skiff  with  slow  and  uncertain  steps 
and  after  ascending  the  water-stairs  his  guide  knocked  three 
times  at  the  door  of  the  pavilion.  It  was  instantly  opened 
and  an  African  in  fantastic  livery,  who  seemed  to  fill  the  office 
of  Cubicular,  beckoned  them  to  enter.  With  all  the  signs  of 
exhaustion  and  the  weariness  of  his  years  weighing  heavily 
upon  him,  the  conjurer  dropped  into  a  seat,  paying  no  heed 
whatever  to  his  surroundings  nor  to  his  companion,  who  had 
withdrawn  into  the  shadows,  while  he  awaited  the  arrival  of 
the  woman,  who  had  called  on  his  skill. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait. 

Noiselessly  a  door  opened  and  the  majestic  and  graceful 
form  of  a  woman  glided  into  the  pavilion,  robed  in  a  long  black 
cloak  and  closely  veiled.  She  motioned  to  the  attendants  to 
withdraw  and  to  the  astrologer  to  approach. 

"  Most  learned  doctor  of  astral  science,"  she  said  hi  a  soft 
clear  voice  of  command,  "  you  have  brought  me  the  calcula 
tions  which  your  learning  has  enabled  you  to  make  as  to  the 
future  of  the  persons  whose  nativities  were  supplied  to 
you  ?  " 

The  astrologer  had  been  seized  with  a  sudden  violent  fit  of 
coughing  and  some  moments  elapsed  ere  he  seemed  able  to 
speak. 

So  low  and  weak  were  his  tones,  that  the  woman  could  not 
understand  one  word  he  uttered,  and  she  began  to  exhibit 
unequivocal  signs  of  impatience,  when  the  conjurer's  voice 
somewhat  improved. 

"  The  horoscopes,"  he  said  in  a  strangely  jarring  tone,  "  are 

340 


THE   LION    OF   BASALT 

the  most  wonderful  that  our  science  has  ever  revealed  to  me. 
They  indicate  most  amazing  changes  of  life,  and  signs  of 
imminent  peril." 

"  You  speak  of  one,  —  or  of  both  ?  " 

"Of  both!" 

"  Give  me  the  details  of  each  horoscope!  " 

The  astrologer  nodded. 

Theodora  watched  him  from  behind  her  veil  as  closely  as 
he  did  her,  for  ever  and  anon  he  stole  furtive  glances  at  her 
and  was  immediately  seized  with  his  cough. 

His  voice  grated  strangely  in  her  ear  as  he  spoke. 

"  The  first,  whose  nativity  I  have  calculated,  is  that  of  one 
born  thirty  years,  one  hundred  and  seventeen  days,  and  ten 
hours  from  this  moment.  It  was  a  birth  under  the  sign  of  the 
Serpent,  at  an  hour  charged  with  vast  possibilities  for  the 
future.  At  that  instant  the  Zodiac  was  moved  by  portentous 
lights  and  the  earth  shook  with  tremors  as  I  have  ascertained 
hi  the  records  of  our  art  !  " 

"  What  are  the  signs  of  the  future  ?  "  the  woman  interrupted 
the  speaker.  "  What  is  past  and  gone,  we  all  know,  even 
without  the  aid  of  your  profound  wisdom.  What  of  the  future, 
I  ask  ?  "  she  concluded  imperiously. 

"  I  hate  to  impart  to  you  what  I  have  found,"  said  the 
astrologer  cringing.  "It  is  terrible.  The  decimation  of  the 
house  of  Death  stands  close  to  the  right  ascension  of  the  house 
of  Life !  " 

Theodora  gave  a  sudden  start.  For  a  moment  she  seemed 
to  lose  her  self-control.  Her  piercing  eyes  seemed  to  look  the 
astrologer  through  and  through,  though  he  had  shrunk  back 
into  the  wide  girth  of  his  mantle. 

"  Give  me  the  scroll !  " 

She  stretched  out  a  hand  white  as  alabaster  to  take  the 
parchment  whereon  the  astrologer  had  marked  the  rise  and 
fall  of  the  star  records.  But,  as  if  seized  with  a  sudden  fear, 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

she  withdrew  the  hand  ere  the  man  of  the  stars  could  comply 
with  her  request. 

"  The  second  horoscope !  "  she  spoke  imperiously. 

Again  a  long  fit  of  coughing  prevented  the  astrologer  from 
speaking. 

When  it  subsided,  he  said  with  profound  solemnity,  watching 
her  expression  intently  from  between  his  half -closed  lids: 

"  That  other,  whose  nativity  you  have  sent  to  me,  shall  find 
death,  —  death,  sudden  and  shameful  —  " 

She  stood  rigid  as  a  statue. 

"  Tell  me  more!  "  she  gasped.     "  Tell  me  more!  " 

"  He  will  die  hated,  —  unlamented,  —  despised  —  " 

She  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  When  shall  that  be  ?  " 

"  There  is  at  this  moment  a  most  ominous  sign  in  the 
heavens,"  replied  the  astrologer  shrinking  within  himself. 
"  Venus,  who  rules  the  skies  is  obscured  by  too  close  attendance 
upon  a  lower  and  less  honourable  star." 

Theodora  held  her  breath. 

"  What  comes  after  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  The  lore  of  astral  combinations  does  not  reveal  such 
things.  But  palmistry  may  aid,  where  the  constellations 
fail.  Deign  to  let  me  trace  the  lines  hi  the  palm  of  your  hand." 

Flinging  aside  her  last  reserve,  Theodora  in  her  eagerness 
held  out  her  palm  to  the  astrologer.  He  bent  over  it,  without 
touching  it,  shaking  his  head,  and  muttering : 

"  The  line  of  life,  —  the  line  of  love,  —  the  line  of  death  —  " 

As  the  astrologer  pronounced  the  last  word,  his  hand  grasped 
with  a  vice-like  grip  the  one  whose  lines  he  had  pretended  to 
read,  while  with  the  other,  which  had  dropped  the  supporting 
staff,  he  pushed  back  the  loose  sleeve  of  her  gown,  baring  her 
arm  almost  to  the  shoulder,  constantly  muttering: 

"The  line  of  Death,  — the  line  of  Death,  — the  line  of 
Death!" 

342 


THE   LION    OF   BASALT 

When  Theodora  first  felt  the  tightening  grip  on  her  wrist, 
she  tried  to  withdraw  her  hand,  but  her  strength  was  not  equal 
to  the  task.  She  felt  the  benumbing  pressure  of  what  she 
imagined  were  the  astrologer's  fleshless  claws,  but  when,  with 
a  motion  almost  too  swift  for  one  bent  with  age  and  infirmity, 
he  laid  bare  to  the  shoulder  the  marble  whiteness  of  her  arm, 
she  thought  he  had  gone  mad.  But  when  the  astrologer's 
trembling  finger  pointed  to  the  red  birthmark  on  her  arm, 
just  below  her  shoulder,  resembling  the  claw  of  a  raven, 
constantly  muttering:  "The  line  of  Death  —  the  line  of 
Death,"  she  uttered  a  piercing  shriek  for  help,  vainly  en 
deavouring  to  shake  him  off. 

A  shadow  dashed  between  the  two,  neither  knew  whence 
it  came. 

The  astrologer  saw  the  gleam  of  a  dagger  before  his  eyes, 
felt  its  point  strike  against  the  corselet  of  mail  beneath  his 
cloak,  felt  the  weapon  rebound  and  snap  asunder,  the  frag 
ments  falling  at  his  feet,  and  releasing  the  woman,  who  stood 
like  an  image  of  stone,  he  dropped  his  cloak  and  supporting 
staff,  and  clove  with  one  blow  of  his  short  double-edged  sword 
the  skull  of  his  assailant  to  the  neck.  With  a  piercing  shriek 
Theodora  rushed  from  the  Pavilion,  followed  in  mad  breathless 
pursuit  by  the  pseudo-astrologer,  who  had  dropped  his  false 
beard  with  his  other  disguises  and  stood  revealed  to  her  terror- 
stricken  gaze  as  Eckhardt,  the  Margrave. 

Without  heeding  the  warning  cry  of  Hezilo,  his  companion, 
he  was  bent  upon  taking  the  woman.  In  the  darkness  he  could 
hear  the  rush  of  her  frightened  footsteps  through  the  corridors ; 
he  seemed  to  gain  upon  her,  when  her  giant  Africans  rushing 
through  another  passage  came  between  the  Margrave  and  his 
intended  victim.  Three  steps  did  he  make  through  the  press 
and  three  of  her  guards  fell  beneath  his  sword.  But  a  stranger 
in  the  labyrinth  of  the  great  pavilion,  he  could  hardly  hope 
to  gain  his  end,  even  if  unimpeded,  and  Theodora's  formidable 

343 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

body-guard  still  outnumbered  him  three  to  one.  Eckhardt's 
doom  would  have  been  sealed  had  not  at  that  very  moment 
Hezilo  appeared  hi  the  passage  behind  him  and  laid  an  arresting 
hand  upon  his  arm. 

Before  the  harper's  well-known  presence  the  Africans  fell 
back,  raising  their  dead  from  the  blood-stained  floor  and 
skulking  back  into  the  dusk  of  the  corridor. 

"  You  have  no  time  to  lose,"  urged  the  harper.  "  Follow 
me !  —  Speak  not,  —  question  not.  Remember  your  compact 
and  your  oath." 

Eckhardt  turned  upon  his  guide  like  a  lion  at  bay.  His  face 
was  pale  as  that  of  a  corpse.  His  blood-shot  eyes  stared,  as 
if  they  must  burst  from  their  sockets;  his  hair  bristled  like 
that  of  a  maniac. 

"  What  care  I  ?  "  he  growled  fiercely.  "  Compact  or  oath  — 
what  care  I  ?  " 

"  There  are  other  considerations  at  stake,"  replied  Hezilo 
calmly.  "  You  promised  to  be  guided  by  my  counsel.  The 
hour  of  final  reckoning  is  not  yet  at  hand." 

Eckhardt's  breast  heaved  so  violently,  that  it  almost  deprived 
him  of  the  faculty  of  speech. 

"  Must  I  turn  back  at  the  very  gates  of  fulfilment  ?  "  he 
burst  forth  at  last.  But  sheathing  his  weapon  he  reluctantly 
followed  the  harper  and,  retracing  their  steps,  they  re-entered 
the  Pavilion.  In  the  slam  boatman  they  recognized  the  ghastly 
features  of  John  of  the  Catacombs,  though  the  bravo's  skull 
was  literally  cloven  hi  twain  and  a  strange  dread  seized  upon 
them  at  the  terrible  revelation.  Eckhardt  stood  by  idly,  while 
the  harper  insisted  upon  removing  the  body,  and  wrapping  his 
ghastly  burden  hi  his  blood-stained  monkish  gown,  showed 
small  repugnance  to  carrying  the  bravo's  carcass  to  the  land 
ing,  where  he  fastened  a  short  iron  chain  to  the  gruesome 
package  and  dropped  it  into  the  muddy  waves  of  the  Tiber. 

Dark  clouds  swept  over  the  face  of  the  moon  and  the  chill 

344 


THE    LION    OF   BASALT 

wind  of  autumn  moaned  dismally  through  the  spectral  pines, 
as  the  boat,  propelled  by  the  sturdy  arms  of  Hezilo,  flew  up 
stream  over  the  murky,  foam-crested  waves. 

An  icy  hand  seemed  to  grip  Eckhardt's  heart.  The  words  rung 
from  the  dying  wretch  in  the  rock-caves  under  the  Gemonian 
stairs  had  proved  true.  In  baring  Theodora's  left  arm  his  eyes 
had  fallen  upon  the  well-remembered  birthmark  resembling 
the  raven  claw.  The  terrible  revelation  had  for  the  nonce 
almost  upset  his  reason,  and  caused  him  prematurely  to 
drop  his  mask.  All  clarity  of  thought,  all  fixedness  of  purpose 
had  deserted  him;  he  felt  as  one  stunned  by  the  blinding 
blow  of  a  maze.  Dazed  he  stared  before  him  into  the  gloom 
of  the  autumnal  night;  his  hair  dishevelled,  his  eyelids  swollen, 
his  lips  compressed.  He  could  not  have  uttered  a  word  had 
his  life  depended  upon  it.  His  tongue  seemed  to  cleave  to  the 
roof  of  his  mouth;  his  brow  was  fevered,  yet  his  hands  were 
cold  as  ice.  At  last  then  he  had  stood  face  to  face  with  the 
awful  mystery,  which  had  mocked  his  waking  hours,  his 
dreams,  —  a  mystery,  even  now  but  half  guessed,  but  half 
revealed.  He  tried  to  recall  fragments  of  the  monk's  tale. 
But  his  brain  refused  to  work,  steeped  in  the  apathy  of  despair. 
The  future  hour  must  give  birth  to  the  considerations  of  the 
final  step,  to  the  closing  chapters  of  his  life.  Yet  he  felt  that 
delay  would  engender  madness;  long  brooding  had  shaken  his 
reason  and  swift  action  alone  could  now  save  it  from  tottering 
to  a  hopeless  fall. 

The  frail  craft  shot  round  the  elbow-like  bend  of  the  Tiber 
at  the  base  of  Aventine  when  Hezilo  for  the  first  time  broke 
the  silence.  He  had  refrained  from  questioning  or  commenting 
on  the  result  of  their  visit  to  the  Groves.  Now,  pointing  to 
the  ramparts  of  Castel  San  Angelo  he  whispered  into  Eckhardt's 
ear: 

"  Are  your  forces  beyond  recall  ?  " 

Eckhardt  stared  up  into  the  speaker's  face,  as  if  the  latter 

345 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

had  addressed  him  in  some  strange  tongue.  Only  after  Hezilo 
had  repeated  his  question,  Eckhardt  roused  himself  from  the 
lethargy,  which  benumbed  his  senses  and  gazed  in  the  direction 
indicated  by  the  harper. 

An  errant  moonbeam  illumined  just  at  this  moment  the 
upper  galleries  of  Hadrian's  tomb.  Straining  his  gaze  towards 
the  ramparts  of  the  formidable  keep,  Eckhardt  strove  to 
discover  a  reason  for  Hezilo's  warning.  But  the  moon  dis 
appeared  behind  a  bank  of  clouds  and  at  that  moment  the 
sculler  ran  hi  shore. 

Unconsciously  his  hand  tightened  round  the  hilt  of  his 
sword. 

"  The  earth  breeds  hard  men  and  weak  men,"  he  muttered. 
"  The  gods  can  but  laugh  at  them  or  grow  wroth  with  them. 
As  for  these  Romelings,  —  they  are  not  worth  destroying. 
They  will  perish  of  themselves." 

"  The  hour  is  close  at  hand,  when  everything  shall  be 
known  to  you,"  Hezilo  turned  to  Eckhardt  at  parting.  "  But 
three  days  remain  to  the  full  of  the  moon." 

Weary  and  sick  at  heart  Eckhardt  grasped  the  harper's 
proffered  hand,  as  they  parted. 

But  he  was  in  no  mood  to  return  within  the  four  walls  of 
his  palace.  He  was  as  one  upon  whom  has  descended  a  thunder 
bolt  from  Heaven. 

The  terrible  revelation  deprived  him  of  his  senses,  of  his 
energies,  of  the  desire  to  live,  —  and  there  was  little  doubt 
that  this  would  have  been  Eckhardt's  last  night  on  earth,  had 
there  not  remained  one  purpose  to  his  life. 

How  small  did  even  that  appear  by  the  magnitude  of  the 
crime,  which  had  been  visited  upon  his  head.  The  how  and 
why  and  when  remained  as  great  a  mystery  to  him  as  ever. 
Eckhardt's  memory  roamed  back  into  the  years  of  the  past. 
He  tried  to  recall  every  word  Ginevra  had  spoken  to  him; 
he  tried  to  recall  every  wish  her  lips  had  expressed,  he 

346 


THE   LION    OF   BASALT 

tried  to  recall  every  unstinted  caress.  And  with  these  memo 
ries  there  rose  up  before  his  inner  eye  Ginevra's  image  and 
with  it  there  welled  up  from  his  heart  an  anguish  so  great, 
that  it  drove  the  nails  of  his  fingers  deep  into  the  flesh  of  his 
clenched  hands. 

He  remembered  her  strange  request  never  to  inquire  into 
her  past,  but  to  love  her  and  let  his  trust  be  the  proof  of  his 
love.  Then  there  came  floating  faintly,  like  phantoms  on  the 
dark  waves  of  his  memory,  her  inordinate  desire  for  power, 
hinted  rather  than  expressed,  —  then  darkness  swallowed, 
everything  else.  Only  boundless  anguish  remained,  fathomless 
despair.  After  a  while  his  feelings  suffered  a  reverse;  they 
changed  to  a  hate  of  the  woman  as  great  as  his  love  had  been,  — 
a  hate  for  the  fateful  siren,  Rome,  who  had  deprived  him  of  all 
that  was  dearest  to  him  on  earth. 

Bending  his  solitary  steps  towards  the  Capitol,  he  saw  the 
veil-like  mists  gathering  above  the  wild  grass,  which  waves 
above  the  palaces  of  the  Caesars.  On  a  mound  cf  rums  he 
stood  with  folded  arms  musing  and  intent.  In  the  distance 
lay  the  melancholy  tombs  of  the  Campagna  and  the  circling 
hills  faintly  outlined  beneath  the  pale  starlight.  Not  a  breeze 
stirred  the  dark  cypresses  and  spectral  pines.  There  was 
something  weird  hi  the  stillness  of  the  skies,  hushing  the 
desolate  grandeur  of  the  earth  below. 

He  had  not  gone  very  far  when  a  shadow  fell  across  his 
path.  Looking  up  he  again  found  himself  by  the  staircase  of 
the  Lion  of  Basalt.  The  weird  relic  from  the  banks  of  the  Nile 
filled  him  with  a  strange  dread.  With  a  shudder  he  paused. 
Was  it  the  ghastly  and  spectral  light  or  did  the  face  of  the  old 
Egyptian  monster  wear  an  aspect  as  that  of  life?  The  stony 
eye-balls  seemed  bent  upon  him  with  a  malignant  scowl  and 
as  he  passed  on  and  looked  behind  they  appeared  almost 
preternaturally  to  follow  his  steps.  A  chill  sank  into  his  heart 
when  the  sound  of  footsteps  arrested  him  and  Eckhardt  stood 

347 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

face  to  face  with  the  hermit  of  Gaeta.  He  beckoned  to  the 
monk  to  accompany  him,  vainly  endeavouring  to  frame  the 
question,  which  hovered  on  his  lips.  The  monk  joined  him  in 
silence.  After  walking  some  little  way  Nilus  suddenly  paused, 
fixing  his  questioning  gaze  on  the  brooding  face  of  his  com 
panion.  Then  a  strange  expression  passed  into  his  eyes. 

"  Life  is  full  of  strange  surprises.  Yet  we  cling  to  it,  just 
to  keep  out  of  the  darkness  through  which  we  know  not  the 
way." 

Sick  at  heart  Eckhardt  listened.  How  little  the  monk  knew, 
he  thought,  and  Nilus  was  staggered  at  the  haggard  expression 
of  the  Margrave's  face,  as  he  stumbled  blindly  and  giddily 
down  the  moonlit  avenue  beside  him. 

"  Would  I  had  never  seen  her !  "  Eckhardt  groaned.  "  In 
what  a  fair  disguise  the  fiend  did  come  to  tempt  my  soul !  " 

He  paused.     The  monk  drew  him  onward. 

"  Come  with  me  to  my  hermitage !  Thou  art  strangely 
excited  and  do  what  thou  mayest,  —  thou  must  follow  out 
thy  destiny !  Hesitate  not  to  confide  in  me !  " 

"My  destiny!  "  Eckhardt  replied.  "Monk,  do  not  mock 
me !  If  thou  hast  any  mystic  power,  read  my  soul  and  measure 
its  misery.  I  have  no  destiny,  save  despair." 

The  monk  regarded  him  strangely. 

"  Because  a  woman  is  false  and  thy  soul  is  weak,  thou 
needest  not  at  once  make  bosom  friends  with  despair.  It  is  a 
long  time  since  I  have  been  in  the  world.  It  is  a  long  time 
since  I  have  abjured  its  vanities.  Let  him  who  has  withstood 
the  terrible  temptation,  cast  the  first  stone.  For  the  flesh  is 
weak  and  the  sin  is  as  old  as  the  world.  And  perchance  even 
the  monk  may  be  able  to  counsel,  to  guide  thee  in  some  mat 
ters, —  for  verily  thou  standest  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice." 

"  I  am  well-nigh  mad !  "  Eckhardt  replied  wearily.  "  Were 
there  but  a  ray  of  light  to  guide  my  steps." 

Nilus  pointed  upward. 

348 


THE    LION    OF    BASALT 

"  All  light  flows  from  the  fountain-head  of  truth.  Be  true 
to  thyself !  Life  is  duty !  In  its  fulfilment  alone  can  there  be 
happiness,  —  and  in  the  renunciation  of  that,  which  has 
been  denied  us  by  the  Supreme  Wisdom.  No  more  than  thou 
canst  reverse  the  wheel  of  time,  no  more  canst  thou  compel 
that  dark  power,  Fate.  And  at  best  —  what  matters  it  for  the 
short  space  of  this  earthly  existence  ?  For  believe  me,  the  End 
of  Time  is  nigh,  —  and  in  the  beyond  all  will  be  as  if  it  had 
never  been." 

Nilus  paused  and  their  eyes  met.  And  in  silence  Eckhardt 
followed  the  monk  among  the  ruins  of  the  latter's  abode. 

As  the  morning  dawned,  some  fishermen  dragging  their 
nets  off  St.  Bartholomew's  island  pulled  up  from  the  muddy 
waves  the  body  of  an  old  man  clad  in  the  loose  garb  of  a  monk. 
But  as  the  day  grew  older  a  new  crime  and  fresh  scandal 
filled  Forum  and  wine  shops  and  the  incident  was  forgotten 
ere  night-fall. 


349 


CHAPTER  XIV 


THE   LAST    TRYST 


HE  great  clock  on  the  tower 
of  San  Sebastian  struck  the 
second  hour  of  night.  The  air 
was  so  pure,  so  transparent,  that 
against  the  horizon  the  snow 
capped  summit  of  Soracte  was 
visible,  like  a  crown  of  glitter 
ing  crystal.  Mysteriously  the 
stars  twinkled  hi  the  fathom 
less  blue  of  the  autumnal  night. 
Procession  after  procession  traversed  the  city.  From  their 
torches  smoky  spirals  rose  up  to  the  starry  skies.  The  pale 
rays  of  the  moon,  the  crimson  glare  of  the  torches,  illumined 
faces  haggard  with  fear,  seamed  with  anxiety  and  dread. 
Despite  the  late  hour,  the  people  swarmed  like  ants,  occupying 
every  point  of  vantage,  climbing  lantern  poles  and  fallen 
columns,  armed  with  clubs,  halberds,  scythes,  pitchforks  and 
staves.  Here  and  there  strange  muffled  forms  were  to  be  seen 
mingling  with  the  crowds,  whispering  here  and  there  a  word 
into  the  ear  of  a  chance  passerby  and  vanishing  like  phantoms 
into  the  night. 

Among  the  many  abroad  hi  the  city  at  this  hour  was  Eck- 
hardt.  He  mistrusted  the  Romans,  he  mistrusted  the  Senator, 
he  mistrusted  the  monks.  The  fire  of  his  own  consuming 
thoughts  would  not  permit  him  to  remain  within  the  four  walls 
of  his  palace.  Like  a  grim  spectre  of  the  past  he  stalked  through 
Rome,  alone,  unattended.  How  long  would  the  terrible  mystery 

350 


THE   LAST   TRYST 

of  his  life  continue  to  mock  him  ?  How  much  longer  must  he 
bear  the  awful  weight  which  was  crushing  his  spirit  with  its 
relentless  agony  ?  What  availed  his  presence  in  Rome  ?  The 
king  had  long  ceased  to  consult  him  on  matters  of  state; 
Benilo  and  Stephania  possessed  his  whole  ear  —  and  Eckhardt 
was  no  longer  hi  his  counsels. 

With  a  degree  of  anxiety,  which  he  had  hi  vain  endeavoured 
to  dispel,  Eckhardt  had  watched  the  growing  intimacy  between 
his  sovereign  and  the  Senator's  wife.  Time  and  again  he  had, 
even  at  the  risk  of  Otto's  fierce  displeasure,  warned  the  King 
against  the  danger  lurking  behind  Stephania's  mask  of  friend 
ship.  Wearied  and  exasperated  with  his  importunities,  Otto 
had  asserted  the  sovereign,  and  Eckhardt's  lips  had  remained 
sealed  ever  since,  though  his  watchfulness  had  not  relaxed 
one  jot,  and  even  while  he  endeavoured  to  lift  the  veil,  which 
enshrouded  his  own  life,  he  remained  circumspect  and  on  the 
alert,  true  to  his  promise  to  the  Empress  Theophano,  now  in 
her  grave. 

The  sounds  which  on  this  night  fell  from  every  side  on 
Eckhardt's  ear  were  not  of  a  nature  to  dispel  his  misgivings 
of  the  Roman  temper.  As  by  a  subtle  intuition  he  felt  that  they 
were  ripe  for  a  change,  though  when  and  whence  and  how  it 
would  come  he  could  not  guess.  His  own  mood  was  as  dark 
as  the  sky-gloom  lowering  over  the  Seven  Hills.  Rome  had 
made  of  him  what  he  was,  Rome  had  poisoned  his  life  with 
the  viper-sting  of  Ginevra's  terrible  deed,  and  now  he  longed 
for  nothing  more  than  for  some  great  event,  which  would  toss 
him  into  the  foaming  billows  of  strife,  therein  to  sink  and  to 
go  under  for  ever. 

Drawing  his  mantle  closer  about  him  and  lowering  the  vizor 
of  his  helmet,  Eckhardt  slowly  made  his  way  through  the  con 
gested  throngs.  He  had  not  proceeded  very  far,  when  he  felt 
some  one  pluck  him  by  the  mantle.  Turning  abruptly  and 
shaking  himself  free,  from  what  he  believed  to  be  the  clutches 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

of  a  beggar,  he  was  about  to  dismiss  the  offender  with  an  oath, 
when  to  his  surprise  he  beheld  a  woman  dressed  in  the  garb  of 
a  peasant,  but  clearly  disguised,  as  her  speech  gave  the  lie  to 
her  affectation  of  low  birth. 

"  You  are  Eckhardt,  the  Margrave  ?  "  she  asked  timidly. 

"  I  am  Eckhardt,"  the  general  replied  curtly. 

"  Then  lose  no  time  to  save  him,  else  he  will  run  into  per 
dition  as  sure  as  yonder  moon  shines  down  upon  us.  Oh !  He 
knows  not  the  dangers  that  beset  him;  —  on  my  knees  I  im 
plore  you  —  save  him !  " 

"  When  I  understand  the  meaning  of  your  gibberish,  doubt 
not  I  will  serve  you !  I  pray  you  give  me  a  glimpse  of  its  pur 
port,"  replied  the  Margrave. 

The  woman  seemed  so  entirely  wrapt  up  in  her  own  business 
that  she  did  not  heed  Eckhardt's  question. 

"  I  dare  not  whisper  the  secret  to  any  one  else,  —  and  my 
Lord  Benilo  bade  me  seek  you  in  case  of  danger.  And  if  you 
cannot  move  him  from  his  mad  purpose,  he  is  lost,  for  never 
was  he  so  bent  to  have  his  own  way.  If  you  come  with  me, 
you  will  find  him  waiting  on  the  terrace,  —  and  do  your 
best  to  lead  him  back,  —  else  he  will  come  to  as  evil  an  end 
as  a  wasp  in  a  bee's  hive,  —  for  all  the  honey!  " 

"  And  whom  shall  I  find  on  the  terrace  ?  "  asked  Eckhardt 
with  ill-concealed  impatience.  He  liked  not  the  babbling 
crone.  "  Cease  your  spurting  and  speak  plainly,  else  go  your 
way:  —  I  am  not  for  such  as  you!  " 

"It  wants  but  a  moment  —  whom  else  but  your  King, 
for  whom  she  has  sent  under  pretext  of  important  business,  — 
aye,  —  at  this  very  hour  and  on  the  terraces  of  the  Mino- 
taurus." 

.ft 

"  Otto,  —  important    business,  —  Minotaurus  —  "  repeated 
Eckhardt.     "  Who  has  sent  for  him  ?  " 
"  Stephania." 

Eckhardt  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

352 


THE    LAST    TRYST 

"  What  is  it  to  me  ?  Go  your  way,  hoary  pander,  —  what 
is  it  to  me  ?  Hasten  to  him,  who  has  paid  you  to  tell  this  tale 
and  get  your  ransom  from  him !  I  wager,  he  knows  the  style 
of  old !  " 

The  woman  did  not  move. 

"  Nay,  my  lord,  that  we  all  should  go  mad  at  one  time," 
she  sobbed  with  evidently  strong  emotions,  which  were  perhaps 
not  caused  by  the  motive  alleged.  "  Then  I  must  away  and 
fulfil  his  destiny, — for  a  man  cannot  serve  two  masters, — 
nor  a  woman  either." 

There  was  something  in  the  speaker's  tone  that  caused  a 
shadow  of  apprehension  to  rise  in  Eckhardt's  mind.  Was 
there  more  behind  all  this  than  she  cared  to  confess  ?  "  Ful 
fil  his  destiny  "  —  these  words  at  least  were  not  her  own. 
A  grave  fear  seized  him.  Otto  might  be  ambushed,  —  carried 
away,  —  he  might  rot  in  Castel  San  Angelo,  and  no  man  the 
wiser  for  it. 

"  Stay!  I  will  go  and  cross  the  boy's  path  to  his  guilty 
paradise,"  repeated  Eckhardt  after  permitting  the  woman  to 
draw  away  from  him  at  a  very  slow  and  wistful  pace  and 
overtaking  her  with  a  couple  of  strides.  "  Lead  on,  but  do 
not  speak!  I  have  no  tongue  to  answer  you!  " 

The  woman  immediately  took  the  well-known  route  towards 
the  terraces  of  the  Minotaurus  and  soon  they  reached  the  spot. 
A  covered  archway  at  one  extremity  admitted  on  a  terrace, 
flanked  on  one  side  by  a  high  dead  wall  of  the  Vatican,  on  the 
other  by  a  steep  and  precipitous  slope,  wooded  with  orange 
trees  and  myrtle.  This  spot,  little  frequented  in  day  time,  was 
deserted  by  night.  The  woman  whispered  that  it  was  here,  she 
expected  the  King,  and  cautioning  Eckhardt  to  remove  him 
with  all  speed  from  this  danger  zone,  which  offered  no  means 
of  escape,  she  precipitately  retired,  leaving  Eckhardt  alone  to 
meditate  upon  what  he  had  heard,  and  to  pursue  his  adventure 
in  the  darkness. 

353 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

The  Margrave  hastened  along  the  archway  and  peering  into 
the  shadows  he  quickly  discerned  the  slim  outline  of  a  man, 
wrapt  in  an  ample  cloak,  leaning  against  the  dead  wall  at  the 
end  of  the  platform.  His  eyes  seemed  fixed  intently  upon  the 
heavens,  while  an  expression  of  impatience  reigned  uppermost 
in  the  pale,  thoughtful  face. 

Eckhardt  quickly  approached  the  edge  of  the  terrace,  where 
he  had  discovered  Otto,  and  although  the  King  kept  his  face 
averted,  he  could  scarcely  hope  to  escape  recognition. 

"  Otto  —  the  King  —  can  it  be  ?  "  Eckhardt  said  with 
feigned  surprise,  as  he  faced  the  youth.  "  I  beg  your  majesty's 
pardon,  —  are  you  a  lodger  in  yonder  palace  or  how  chances 
it  that  you  are  here  alone,  —  unattended  ?  " 

"  Ay  —  since  you  know  me,"  replied  Otto  with  a  forced 
smile,  "  I  will  not  deny  my  name  nor  business  either.  The 
ladies  of  the  Senator's  court  are  fair,  and  an  ancient  crone 
whispered  to  me  at  my  devotions  to  Our  Lady,  on  this  terrace 
and  at  this  hour,  if  I  prayed  heartily,  I  should  have  good 
news.  Matter  enough,  I  ween,  to  stir  one's  curiosity,  but, — 
I  fear,  — - 1  should  be  alone." 

The  blood  surged  thickly  through  Eckhardt's  brain.  He 
could  scarcely  breathe,  as  he  listened  to  this  falsehood  and  for 
a  few  moments  he  gazed  hi  silence  on  the  flushed  and  paling 
visage  of  the  youth. 

At  last  he  spoke. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  the  air  of  Rome  can  even  change  a 
nature  like  yours  to  utter  a  falsehood  ?  My  liege,  —  you  are 
not  yourself!  "  Eckhardt  exclaimed,  discarding  all  reserve, 
for  he  knew  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  And  if  perchance 
the  fair  serpent  that  had  lured  him  hither  was  nigh, 
his  words  should  strike  her  heart  with  shame  and  dismay. 
"  It  is  to  Stephania  you  go,  —  it  is  Stephania,  whom  you 
await!  " 

There  was  a  brief  pause  during  which  a  hectic  flush  chased 

354 


THE   LAST   TRYST 

the  deep  pallor  from  Otto's  face,  as  he  passively  listened  to 
the  unaccustomed  speech. 

"  Stephania,"  he  repeated  absently,  and  suffering  his  cloak 
to  drop  aside  in  his  absorption,  he  revealed  the  richness  and 
splendour  of  the  garb  beneath. 

"  The  wife  of  the  Senator  of  Rome !  "  Eckhardt  supplemented 
sternly. 

"  And  what  if  it  be  ?  "  Otto  responded  with  mingled  petulancy 
and  confusion.  "  What  if  the  Senator's  consort  has  vouch 
safed  me  a  private  audience  ?  " 

"  Are  you  beside  yourself,  King  Otto  ?  You  venture  into 
this  place  alone,  —  unattended,  —  to  please  some  woman's 
whim,  —  a  woman  who  is  playing  with  you,  —  and  will  lead 
you  to  perdition  ?  " 

"  How  dare  you  arraign  your  King  and  his  deeds  ?  "  Otto 
exclaimed  fiercely. 

"  I  am  here  to  save  you  —  from  yourself!  You  know  not 
the  consequences  of  your  deed !  " 

"  Let  them  be  what  they  will!    I  am  here,  to  abide  them!  " 

Eckhardt  crossed  his  arms  over  his  broad  chest  as  he  re 
garded  the  offspring  of  the  vanquisher  of  the  Saracens  with 
mingled  scorn  and  pity. 

"  The  spell  is  heavy  upon  you,  here  among  the  crimson  and 
purple  flowers,  where  the  Siren  sings  you  to  destruction,"  he 
said  with  forced  calmness.  "  But  you  shall  no  longer  listen 
to  her  voice,  else  you  are  lost.  Otto,  —  Otto,  —  away  with 
me !  We  will  leave  this  accursed  spot  and  Rome  together  —  for 
ever!  There  is  no  other  refuge  for  you  from  the  spell  of  the 
Sorceress." 

"  Not  for  all  the  lands  on  which  the  sun  sets  to-night  will 
I  refuse  obedience  to  Stephania's  call,"  Otto  replied.  "  You 
sorely  mistake  your  place  and  presume  too  much  on  the 
authority  placed  into  your  hands  by  the  august  Empress,  my 
mother.  But  attempt  not  to  exercise  mastery  over  your  King 

355 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

or  to  bend  him  to  your  will  and  purpose  —  for  he  will  do  as  he 
chooses !  " 

"  It  has  come  to  this  then,"  replied  Eckhardt  without 
stirring  from  the  spot  and  utterly  disregarding  Otto's  increasing 
nervousness.  "  It  has  come  to  this!  Are  there  no  chaste  and 
fair  maidens  hi  your  native  land  ?  Maidens  of  high  birth  and 
lineage,  fit  to  adorn  an  emperor's  couch  ?  Must  you  needs 
come  hither,  —  hither,  —  to  this  thrice  accursed  spot,  to  love 
an  alien,  to  love  a  Roman,  and  of  all  Romans,  a  married  woman 
—  the  wife  of  your  arch-enemy,  the  Senator  ?  Are  you  blind, 
King  Otto  ?  Can  you  not  see  the  game  ?  You  alone  —  of 
all  ?  Deem  you  the  proud,  merciless  Stephania,  the  consort 
of  the  Senator,  who  hates  us  Teutons  more  than  he  does  the 
fiend  himself,  —  would  meet  you  here  hi  this  secluded  spot, 
with  her  husband's  knowledge,  —  with  her  husband's  con 
nivance,  —  simply  to  listen  to  your  dreams  and  vagaries  ? 
Can  you  not  see  that  you  are  but  her  dupe  ?  King  Otto,  you 
have  refused  to  listen  to  my  warnings :  —  there  is  sedition  rife 
hi  Rome.  Retire  to  the  Aventine,  bar  the  gates  to  every  one,  — 
I  have  despatched  my  fleetest  messenger  to  Tivoli  to  recall  our 
contingents,  —  before  dawn  my  Saxons  shall  hammer  at  the 
gates  of  Rome !  " 

Otto  gazed  at  the  speaker  as  if  the  latter  addressed  him  hi 
some  unknown  tongue. 

"  Sedition  hi  Rome  ?  "  he  replied  like  one  wrapt  hi  a  dream. 
"  You  are  mad!  The  Romans  love  me!  Even  as  I  do  them! 
I  will  not  stir  an  inch !  I  remain !  " 

Eckhardt  breathed  hard.  He  must  carry  his  point;  he  felt 
oppressed  by  the  sense  of  a  great  danger. 

"  And  thus  it  befalls,"  he  said  laughing  aloud  with  the  ex 
cess  of  bitterness,  "  that  to  this  hour  I  owe  the  achievement  of 
knowing  the  cause  why  you  have  declined  the  demands  of  the 
Electors;  that  I  can  bear  to  them  the  answer  to  their  im 
portunities;  that  hi  this  hour  I  have  learned  the  true  reason 

356 


THE   LAST   TRYST 

of  your  refusing  to  listen  to  your  German  subjects,  who  crave 
your  return,  who  love  you  and  your  glorious  house !  You  say 
you  will  remain !  Revel  then  in  your  Eden,  until  she  is  weary 
of  you  and  Crescentius  spares  her  the  pains  of  the  finish." 

"  What  are  you  raving  ?  "  exclaimed  Otto  furiously. 

"  You  are  mad  for  love,  King  Otto,  and  a  frenzied  lover  is 
the  worst  of  fools !  " 

The  King  blushed,  with  the  consciousness  either  of  his  inno 
cence  or  guilt. 

"  Since  you  accuse  me,"  he  spoke  more  calmly,  but  a  strange 
fire  burning  in  his  eyes,  "  I  do  not  deny  it,  —  Stephania  re 
quested  a  meeting  on  matters  pertaining  to  Rome,  and  I  have 
come!  And  here,"  Otto  continued,  inflexible  determination 
ringing  in  his  tones  —  "  and  here  I  will  await  her,  if  all  hell 
or  the  swords  of  Rome  barred  the  way.  Do  you  hear  me,  Eck- 
hardt  ?  Too  long  have  I  been  the  puppet  of  the  Electors. 
Too  long  have  I  suffered  your  tyranny.  My  will  is  supreme,  — 
and  who  so  defies  it,  is  a  traitor!  " 

Eckhardt  gazed  fixedly  into  his  sovereign's  eyes. 

"  King  Otto!  Is  it  possible  that  you  beguile  yourself  with 
these  specious  pretexts  ?  That  you  assail  the  honour  of  those 
who  have  followed  you  hither,  who  have  twice  conquered 
Rome  for  you  ?  Ay,  —  no  one  so  blind  as  he  who  will  not  see ! 
I  tell  you,  Stephania  is  luring  you  into  the  betrayal  of  your 
honour,  —  perhaps  that  of  the  Senator,  —  who  knows  ?  I 
tell  you  she  is  deceiving  you!  Or,  —  if  she  pretends  to  love, 
it  is  to  betray  you !  You  cannot  resist  her  magic,- —  it  is  not  in 
humanity  to  do  so,  were  it  thrice  subdued  by  years  of  fasting. 
If  you  repel  her  now,  your  victory  will  be  bought  with  your 
destruction!  Her  undying  hatred  will  mark  you  her  own! 
But  if  you  succumb  you  are  lost,  —  the  Virgin  herself  could 
not  save  you !  You  shall  not  remain !  You  shall  not  meet  her, 
—  not  as  long  as  the  light  of  these  eyes  can  watch  over  your 
credulous  heart!  " 

357 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

Otto  had  advanced  a  step.  Vainly  groping  for  words  to  vent 
his  wrath,  he  paced  up  and  down  before  the  trusted  leader 
of  his  hosts. 

At  last  he  paused  directly  before  him. 

"  My  Lord  Eckhardt,"  he  said,  "  it  might  content  you  to 
rake  amidst  the  slime  of  the  city  for  matter,  with  which  to 
asperse  a  pure  and  beautiful  woman,  —  as  for  myself,  while 
my  hand  can  clutch  the  hilt  of  a  sword,  you  shall  not!  "  he 
exclaimed,  yielding  at  last  to  the  voice  of  his  fiery  nature. 

"  Strike  then,"  Eckhardt  replied,  raising  his  arms.  "  I 
have  no  weapon  against  my  King !  " 

Otto  pushed  the  half  drawn  sword  back  into  the  scabbard. 

"  For  this,"  he  said,  "  you  shall  abide  a  reckoning." 

"  Then  let  it  be  now !  "  Eckhardt  exclaimed  in  a  wild  jeering 
tone.  "  Go  and  bid  Stephania  arm  her  champion,  one  against 
whom  I  may  enter  the  lists,  and  I  swear  to  you,  that  from  his 
false  breast  I  will  tear  the  truth,  which  you  refuse  to  accept, 
coming  from  your  friends!  But  I  am  not  in  a  mood  to  be 
trifled  with.  You  shall  not  remain,  King  Otto,  and  I  swear 
by  these  spurs,  I  will  rather  kill  your  paramour,  than  to  see 
you  betrayed  to  the  doom  which  awaits  you." 

"  Are  life  and  death  so  absolutely  hi  the  hands  of  the  Mar 
grave  of  Meissen  ?  "  replied  Otto  in  a  towering  rage.  "  In 
the  face  of  your  defiance  I  will  tarry  here  and  abide  my  for 
tune." 

And  clutching  Eckhardt's  mantle,  in  his  wrath,  his  eye  met 
the  eye  of  the  fearless  general. 

With  a  jerk  the  latter  freed  himself  from  Otto's  grasp. 

"  A  fool  in  love :  A  thing  that  men  spurn  and  women 
deride." 

Otto's  face  turned  deadly  pale. 

"  You  dare?     This  to  your  King  ?  " 

"  I  dare  everything  to  save  you  —  everything !  Otto  —  the 
Romans  mistrust  you!  They  love  you  no  longer!  They  are 

358 


THE   LAST    TRYST 

ripe  for  a  change!  The  longer  you  tarry,  the  fiercer  will  be 
the  strife.  Crescentius  would  rather  destroy  the  whole  city 
than  let  it  be  permanently  wrested  from  his  power.  You  have 
been  his  dupe,  —  hark  —  do  you  hear  those  voices  ?  " 

"  Of  all  my  enemies  he  is  the  one  sincere." 

"  Then  he  were  the  more  dangerous!  A  fanatic  is  always 
more  powerful  than  a  knave.  Do  you  hear  these  voices,  King 
Otto  ?  " 

Otto  was  pacing  the  terrace  with  feverish  impatience. 

"  I  hear  nothing!    I  hear  nothing!    Go  —  and  leave  me!  " 

"  And  know  you  sold,  —  betrayed,  —  by  that — " 

A  shadow  crossed  his  path,  noiseless  on  the  velvety  turf. 

Before  them  stood  Stephania. 

"  Finish  your  words,  my  Lord.  Eckhardt,"  she  said  facing 
the  Margrave.  "  Pray,  let  not  my  presence  mellow  your 
speech." 

"  And  it  shall  not!  "  retorted  Eckhardt  hotly. 

"  And  it  shall!  "  thundered  Otto  rushing  upon  him.  "  Upon 
your  life,  Eckhardt,  one  insult  and  —  " 

Stephania  laid  a  tranquillizing  finger  on  Otto's  arm. 

"  I  have  heard  all,"  she  said,  pale  as  marble,  but  smiling, 
"  And  I  forgive." 

"You  have  heard  his  accusation  —  and  you  forgive,  Ste 
phania  ?  "  cried  Otto,  gazing  incredulously  into  her  eyes. 

"  You  had  faith  in  me  —  I  thank  you  —  Otto !  "  she  replied 
softly,  and  sweeping  by  Eckhardt,  she  extended  both  hands  to 
the  King.  He  grasped  them  tightly  within  his  own  and,  bending 
over  them,  pressed  his  fevered  lips  upon  them. 

Suddenly  all  three  raised  their  heads  and  listened. 

A  sound  not  unlike  a  distant  trumpet  blast,  rent  the  stillness 
of  night,  seemed  to  swell  with  the  echoes  from  the  hills,  then 
died  away. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "   the  German  leader  questioned,  puzzled. 

"  The  monks  are  holding  processions,  —  the  streets  are 

359 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

swarming   with   the  cassocks,  —  their  chants  can  be  heard 
everywhere." 

Stephania  gazed  at  Otto,  as  she  answered  Eckhardt's  question. 

The  Margrave  scrutinized  her  intently. 

"  I  knew  not  the  Senator  loved  the  black  crows  so  well,  as 
to  furnish  music  to  their  march,"  he  replied  slowly.  Then  he 
turned  to  the  woman. 

"Hear  me,  Stephania!  You  see  me  here,  but  you  know 
not  that  I  have  ordered  all  my  men-at-arms  to  attend  me  at 
the  gates  below !  If  the  King's  foolish  passion  and  blind  trust 
have  been  the  means  to  execute  your  hellish  design,  know 
that  with  my  own  hand  I  will  avenge  your  remorseless  treach 
ery,  for  I  will  slay  you  if  aught  befall  him  in  this  night,  and 
hang  your  lord,  the  Senator  of  Rome,  from  the  ramparts  of 
Castel  San  Angelo,  —  I  swear  it  by  the  Five  Wounds !  " 

For  a  moment  Stephania  stood  petrified  with  terror  and 
unable  to  utter  a  single  word  in  response.  Then  she  turned 
to  Otto. 

"  This  man  is  mad !  Order  him  begone,  —  or  I  will  go  my 
self.  He  frightens  me !  " 

She  made  a  movement  as  if  to  depart,  but  Otto,  divining  her 
intention,  barred  the  way. 

"  Stephania  —  remain !  "  he  entreated.  "  Our  general  is 
but  prompted  by  an  over  great  zeal  for  our  welfare,"  he  con 
cluded,  restraining  himself  with  an  effort.  Then  breathing 
hard,  he  extended  his  arm,  and  with  flaming  eyes  spoke  to 
Eckhardt: 

"Go!" 

"  I  go!  "  the  general  replied  with  heavy  heart.  "  If  anything 
unusual  happens  in  this  night,  King  Otto,  remember  my  words 
—  remember  my  warning.  My  men  are  stationed  at  the  wicket, 
through  which  you  came.  There  is  no  other  exit,  —  save  to 
perdition.  I  leave  you  —  may  the  Saints  keep  you  till  we  meet 
again  \ " 

360 


THE   LAST    TRYST 

With  these  words  Eckhardt  gathered  his  mantle  about  him 
and  stalked  away,  leisurely  at  first,  as  if  to  lull  to  sleep  every 
inkling  of  suspicion  hi  Stephania,  then  faster  and  faster,  and 
at  last  he  fairly  flew  up  the  winding  road  of  Aventine.  Those 
whom  he  met  shied  out  of  his  path,  as  if  the  fiend  himself  was 
coming  towards  them  and  shaking  their  heads  in  grave  wonder 
and  fear,  muttered  an  Ave  and  told  their  beads. 

Strange  noises  were  in  the  air.  The  chants  of  the  monks 
were  intermingled  with  the  fierce  howls  and  shrieks  of  a  mob, 
harangued  by  some  demagogue,  who  fed  their  discontentment 
with  arguments  after  their  own  heart.  Everywhere  Eckhardt 
met  skulking  countenances,  scowling  faces,  while  half-sup 
pressed  oaths  fell  on  his  ear.  Arrived  on  the  Aventine  he  imme 
diately  ordered  Haco,  Captain  of  the  Imperial  Guards,  to  his 
presence. 

"  Bridle  your  charger  and  ride  to  Tivoli  as  if  ten  thousand 
devils  were  on  your  heels,"  he  said,  handing  the  young  officer 
an  order  he  had  hurriedly  and  barbarously  scratched  on  a 
fragment  of  parchment.  "  Pass  through  the  Tiburtine  gate  and 
return  with  sunrisa, —  life  and  death  depend  upon  your  speed !  " 

Withdrawing  immediately,  Haco  saddled  his  charger  and 
soon  the  echoes  of  his  horse's  hoofs  died  away  in  the  distance, 
while  Eckhardt  hurriedly  entered  the  palace. 

After  he  had  vanished  from  the  labyrinth  of  the  Minotaurus, 
Otto  and  Stephania  faced  each  other  for  a  moment  in  silence. 
The  Southern  night  was  very  still.  The  noises  from  the  city 
had  died  down.  By  countless  thousands  the  stars  shone  in 
the  deep,  fathomless  heavens. 

It  was  Otto  who  first  broke  the  heavy  silence. 

"  Stephania,"  he  said,  "  why  are  you  here  to-night  ?  " 

"  What  a  strange  question,"  she  replied,  "  and  from  you." 

"  Yes  —  from  me!    From  me  to  you.    Is  it  because  —  " 

He  paused  as  if  oppressed  by  some  great  dread.  He  dared 
not  trust  himself  to  speak  those  words  in  her  hearing. 

361 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

"  Is  it  because  I  love  you  ?  "  she  complemented  the  sen 
tence,  drawing  him  down  beside  her.  But  the  seed  of  doubt 
Eckhardt  had  planted  in  his  heart  had  taken  root. 

"  Stephania,"  he  said  with  a  strange  voice,  without  replying 
directly  to  her  question.  "  I  have  trusted  in  you  and  I  will 
continue  to  trust  in  you,  even  despite  the  whisperings  of  the 
fiend,  —  until  with  my  own  eyes  I  behold  you  faithless.  Eck 
hardt  has  been  with  me  all  day,"  he  continued  with  unsteady 
voice,  "  he  has  warned  me  against  you,  he  has  warned  me  to 
place  no  trust  in  your  words,  that  you  are  but  the  instrument 
of  Crescentius;  that  he  has  organized  a  mutiny;  that  he  but 
awaits  your  signal  for  my  destruction.  He  has  warned  me 
that  you  have  planned  my  seizure  and  selected  this  spot,  to 
prevent  intervention.  Stephania,  answer  me  —  is  it  so  ?  " 

For  a  moment  the  woman  gazed  at  him  in  dread  silence, 
unable  to  speak. 

"  Did  you  believe  ?  "  she  faltered  at  last  with  averted  gaze, 
very  pale. 

"  I  am  here !  "  he  replied. 

Stephania  laughed  nervously. 

"  I  had  forgotten!  "  she  stammered.    "  How  good  of  you!  " 

Otto  regarded  her  with  silent  wonder,  not  unmingled  with 
fear,  for  her  countenance  betrayed  an  anxiety  he  had  never 
read  in  it  before.  And  indeed  her  restlessness  and  terror 
seemed  to  increase  with  every  moment.  She  answered  Otto's 
questions  evidently  without  knowing  what  she  said,  and  her 
gaze  turned  frequently  and  with  a  devouring  expression  of 
anxiety  and  dread  toward  Castel  San  Angelo.  Maddened 
and  desperate  with  her  own  perfidy,  she  began  to  ruminate 
the  most  violent  extremities,  without  perceiving  one  exit  from 
the  labyrinth  of  guile.  The  significance  of  Otto's  question, 
his  earnestness  and  his  faith  in  herself  put  the  crown  on  her 
misery.  Her  eyes  grew  dim  and  her  senses  were  failing. 
Her  limbs  quaked  and  for  a  moment  she  was  unable  to  speak. 

362 


THE   LAST   TRYST 

Otto  bent  over  her  in  positive  fear.  The  pale  face  looked 
so  deathlike  that  his  heart  quailed  at  the  thought  of  life, — • 
life  without  her. 

"  I  cannot  bear  it  —  I  cannot  bear  it,"  he  muttered,  holding 
her  hands  in  his  tight  grasp. 

It  seemed  as  if  she  had  read  his  inmost,  unspoken 
thoughts. 

"  And  yet  it  must  come  at  last !  "  she  replied  softly,  as  from 
the  depths  of  a  dream.  "  What  is  this  short  span  of  life  for 
such  love  as  ours  ?  And,  —  had  we  even  everything  we 
could  crave,  all  the  world  can  give,  —  would  there  not  be  a 
sting  in  each  moment  of  happiness  at  the  thought —  " 

She  paused.     Her  head  drooped. 

"  My  happiness  is  to  be  with  you,"  he  stammered.  "  I 
cannot  count  the  cost!  " 

"  Think  you  that  I  would  count  the  cost  ?  "  she  said.    "  And 
you  love  me  despite  of  all  those  dreadful  things,  which  he  — 
Eckhardt  —  has  poured  into   your  ear  ?  "  she  continued  with 
low,  purring  voice. 

"  Love  you  —  love  you!  "  he  repeated  wildly.  "  Oh,  I  have 
loved  you  all  my  life,  even  before  I  saw  you,  —  are  you  not  the 
embodied  form  of  all  those  vague  dreams  of  beauty,  which 
haunted  my  earliest  childhood  ?  That  beauty,  which  I  sought 
yearningly,  but  oh !  so  vainly  in  all  things,  that  breathe  the  divine 
essence :  the  lustrous  darkness  of  night,  the  glories  of  sunset, 
the  subtle  perfume  of  the  rose,  the  all-reflecting  ocean  of 
poetry  hi  which  the  Universe  mirrors  itself  ?  In  all  have  I 
found  the  same  deep  void,  which  only  love  can  fill.  Not  love 
you,"  he  continued  covering  both  hands  he  held  in  his  with 
fevered  kisses,  "  oh,  Stephania,  I  love  you  better  than  myself,  — 
better  than  all  things,  —  here  and  hereafter." 

Almost  paralyzed  with  fear  she  listened  to  his  mad  pleading. 

"  And  can  nothing  —  nothing,  —  destroy  this  love  you  have 
for  me  ?  "  she  faltered. 

363 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

He  took  her  yielding  form  in  his  arms.  He  drew  her  closer 
and  closer  to  his  heart. 

"  Nothing,  —  nothing,  —  nothing." 

"  I  love  you  —  Otto  —  "  she  whispered  deliriously. 

"  To  the  end,  dearest,  —  to  the  end !  " 

From  a  tavern  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  the  sounds  of  high 
revelry  were  borne  up  to  them.  The  air  was  filled  with 
the  odour  of  dead  leaves  and  dying  creation,  that  subtle  pre 
monition  of  the  end  to  come. 

"  And  you  have  anxiously  waited  my  coming  ?  "  she  said, 
hiding  her  face  in  his  arms. 

"  Oh,  Stephania !  The  hour-glass,  with  which  passion 
measures  a  lover's  impatience,  is  a  burning  torch  to  his  heart." 

Supreme  stillness  intervened  again. 

Stephania  raised  her  head  like  a  deer  in  covert,  listening 
for  the  hunters,  listening  for  the  baying  of  the  hounds,  coming 
nearer  and  nearer.  Gladly  at  this  moment  would  she  have 
given  her  life  to  undo  what  she  had  done.  But  it  was  too  late. 
Even  this  expiation  would  not  avail!  There  was  nothing  now 
to  do,  but  to  nerve  herself  for  that  supreme  moment,  when  all 
would  be  severed  between  them  for  aye  and  ever;  when  she 
would  stand  before  him  the  embodiment  of  deception;  when 
he  would  spurn  her  as  one  spurns  the  reptile,  that  repays  the 
caressing  hand  with  its  deadly  sting ;  when  he  would  curse  her 
perhaps,  —  cast  from  him  for  ever  the  woman  who  had  cut 
the  thread  of  the  life  he  had  laid  at  her  feet  —  and  all,  for 
what? 

That  Johannes  Crescentius,  the  Senator  of  Rome  might 
again  come  into  his  own,  that  he  might  again  lord  the 
rabble  which  now  skulked  through  the  streets  to  avenge  some 
imaginary  wrong  on  the  head  of  the  youth,  whose  love  for 
them  was  to  be  the  pass  word  for  his  destruction. 

And  Johannes  Crescentius  was  her  husband  and  lord.  He 
loved  her  with  as  great  a  love  as  his  nature  was  capable  of, 

364 


THE   LAST    TRYST 

and  whatever  faults  might  be  laid  at  the  door  of  his  regime, 
if  faults  they  could  even  be  termed  in  a  lawless,  feudal  age, 
that  knew  no  right  save  might,  —  to  her  he  had  never  been 
untrue. 

Stephania  endeavoured  to  persuade  herself  that,  what  she 
had  done,  she  had  done  for  the  good  of  Rome.  Monstrous 
deception!  She  despised  the  mongrel  rabble  too  heartily  to 
even  have  raised  a  finger  in  its  behalf.  If  they  starved,  would 
Crescentius  give  them  bread  ?  If  they  froze  —  would  Cres- 
centius  clothe  them  ?  Then  there  remained  but  the  question, 
should  a  Roman  govern  Rome,  or  the  alien,  —  the  foreigner. 
Was  it  for  her  to  decide  ?  How  unworthy  the  cause  of  the 
sacrifice  she  was  about  to  bring  on  the  altar  of  her  happiness. 
But  which  ever  way  the  tongue  of  the  scales  inclined,  —  it  was 
too  late! 

Otto  had  buried  his  head  on  Stephania's  bosom.  She  had 
encircled  it  with  her  arms  and  with  gentle  fingers  that  sent  a 
delirium  through  his  brain,  she  stroked  his  soft  brown  hair, 
while  the  cry  of  Delilah  hovered  on  her  lips. 

He  looked  up  into  her  eyes. 

"  Stephania,  —  why  are  you  here  to-night  ?  "  he  whispered 
again,  and  he  felt  the  tremor  which  quivered  through  her  body. 

"  I  came  to  bring  you  the  answer  which  you  craved  at  our 
last  meeting,"  she  replied  softly.  "  Can  you  guess  it  ?  " 

"  Then  you  have  chosen,"  he  gasped,  as  if  he  were  suddenly 
confronted  with  the  crisis  in  his  existence,  when  that  which  he 
held  dearest  must  either  slip  away  from  him  for  ever  or  remain 
his  through  all  eternity. 

"  I  have  chosen !  "  she  whispered,  her  arms  tightening 
round  him,  as  if  she  would  protect  him  against  all  the  world. 

"  Kiss  me,"  she  moaned. 

One  delirious  moment  their  lips  met.  They  remained  locked 
in  tight  embrace,  lip  to  lip,  heart  to  heart. 

There  was  a  brief  breathless  silence. 

365 


Suddenly  the  great  bell  of  the  Capitol  rolled  in  solemn  and 
majestic  sounds  upon  the  air,  and  was  answered  from  all  the 
belfries  of  Rome.  But  louder  than  the  pealing  tocsin,  above 
the  wild  screaming  and  clanging  of  the  bells  rose  the  piercing 
cry: 

"  Death  to  the  Saxon!     Death  to  the  King!  " 

They  both  raised  their  heads  and  listened.  With  wild-eyed 
wonder  Otto  gazed  into  Stephania's  eyes.  The  marble  statues 
around  them  were  hardly  as  white  as  her  features. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  he  questioned. 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  depths  of  the  streets  below.  Shouts 
and  jeers  of  strident  voices  were  broken  by  authoritative  com 
mands.  The  tramp  of  mailed  feet  was  remotely  audible,  but 
above  all  the  hubbub  and  din  rose  the  cry: 

"  Death  to  the  Saxon!     Death  to  the  King!  " 

When  the  first  peals  of  the  great  bell  quivered  on  the  silent 
night  air,  Stephania  had,  with  a  low  wail,  encircled  Otto's 
head  with  her  arms,  pressed  him  closely  to  her,  as  if  to  shield 
him  from  harm.  Then,  as  louder  and  wilder  the  iron  tongues 
shrieked  defiance  through  the  air,  as,  turning  her  head,  she 
saw  the  fatal  spear  points  of  the  Albanians  gleaming  through 
the  thicket,  she  suddenly  shook  him  off.  With  a  stifled  outcry, 
she  rose  to  her  feet ;  so  abruptly  that  Otto  staggered  and  would 
have  fallen,  had  he  not  in  time  caught  himself  with  the  aid  of 
a  branch. 

To  the  King  it  gave  the  impression  of  a  wild  hideous  dream. 
Like  one  dazed,  he  stared  first  at  the  woman,  then  down  the 
declivity. 

Directly  beneath  where  he  stood  a  scribe  was  haranguing 
the  crowds,  descanting  on  the  ancient  glory  of  the  Romans 
and  exhorting  his  listeners  to  exterminate  all  foreigners.  From 
Castel  San  Angelo  came  an  incessant  sound  of  trumpets,  which, 
mingling  with  the  brazen  roar  of  bells  seemed  to  shake  the 
earth.  Torches  lighted  the  streets  with  their  smoky  crimson 

366 


THE    LAST    TRYST 

glare.  People  hurried  hither  and  thither,  jostling,  pushing, 
trampling  upon  each  other  like  black  shadows,  like  living 
phantoms.  The  fiery  glow,  the  voices  of  the  angry  mob,  the 
pealing  of  the  bells,  —  they  all  struck  Stephania's  heart  with 
a  thousand  talons  of  remorse  and  shame.  Fearstruck 
and  trembling,  she  gazed  into  the  pale  face  of  Theophano's 
son. 

Otto  was  watching  the  distant  pandemonium  as  one  would 
gaze  upon  some  strange,  hideous  ceremonial  of  occult  meaning, 
—  then  he  turned  slowly  to  Stephania. 

For  a  moment  they  faced  each  other  in  silence,  then  he 
stroked  the  disordered  hair  from  his  forehead  like  one  waking 
from  a  dream. 

"  You  have  betrayed  me." 

Her  lips  were  tightly  compressed;   she  made  no  reply. 

The  next  moment  he  was  on  his  knees  before  her. 

"  Forgive  me,  forgive  me,"  he  faltered,  "  I  knew  not  what 
I  said !  " 

She  breathed  hard.  For  a  moment  she  closed  her  eyes  in 
mortal  anguish. 

"  Then  you  still  believe  in  me  ?  "  She  spoke  hardly  above 
a  whisper. 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  he  replied,  grasping  her  hands  and 
covering  them  with  kisses.  For  a  moment  she  suffered  him 
to  exhaust  his  endearments,  then  she  jerked  them  away  from 
him. 

"  Then  bid  your  hopes  and  dreams  farewell  and  scatter  your 
faith  to  the  winds,"  she  shrieked,  almost  beside  herself  with  the 
memory  of  her  vow  and  its  consequences.  "  You  are  betrayed, 
—  and  I  have  betrayed  you !  " 

Otto  had  staggered  to  his  feet  and  gazed  upon  the  beautiful 
apparition  who  faced  him  like  some  avenging  fury,  as  if  he 
thought  that  she  had  gone  suddenly  mad.  For  a  moment  she 
paused,  as  if  summoning  supreme  energy  for  the  execution  of 

367 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

her  task,  as  if  to  lash  herself  into  a  paroxysm  sufficient  to  make 
her  forget  those  accusing  eyes  and  his  all-mastering  love. 

"  I  have  betrayed  you,  King  Otto !  I,  Stephania,  a  woman ! 
Ah!  You  believed  my  words!  You  were  vain  enough  to 
imagine  that  the  wife  of  the  Senator  of  Rome  could  love  you,  — 
you,  —  her  greatest  foe,  you,  the  Saxon,  the  alien,  the  intruder, 
who  came  here  to  rob  us  of  our  own,  to  wrest  the  sceptre  from 
the  rightful  lord  of  the  Seven  Hills.  You  hoped  Stephania 
would  aid  you  to  realize  your  mad  dreams!  How  unsophisti 
cated,  how  deliciously  innocent  is  the  King  of  the  Germans! 
Know  then  that  I  have  lied  to  you,  when  I  feigned  interest  in 
your  cause,  know  that  I  have  lied  to  you  when  I  professed  to 
love  you !  Love  you,"  she  cried,  while  her  heart  was  breaking 
with  every  word  she  hurled  against  him,  who  listened  to  her 
speech  hi  frozen  terror.  "  Love  you !  Fool !  And  you  were 
mad  enough  to  believe  it !  Do  you  hear  those  bells  ?  Do  you 
hear  the  great  tocsin  from  the  Capitol  ?  Do  you  hear  the 
alarums  from  the  ramparts  of  Castel  San  Angelo  ?  They  are 
calling  the  Romans  to  arms !  They  are  summoning  the  Romans 
to  revolt !  Do  you  hear  those  shouts  ?  Death  to  the  Germans  ? 
They  are  for  you,  —  for  you,  —  for  you !  " 

Again  she  paused,  breathing  hard,  collecting  all  her  woman's 
strength  to  finish  what  she  had  begun. 

The  end  had  come,  —  her  task  must  be  finished. 

Her  voice  now  assumed  its  natural  tones,  the  more  dreadful 
in  their  import,  as  she  spoke  hi  the  old  deep,  soulful  accents. 

"  I  have  lulled  you  to  sleep,"  she  continued,  breaking  the 
bridge,  which  led  back  into  the  past,  span  by  span,  —  "  that 
the  Senator  of  Rome  may  once  again  come  into  his  own!  I 
have  pretended  interest  in  your  monkish  fancies,  that  Rome 
may  once  more  shake  off  the  invader's  accursed  yoke.  I  am 
a  Roman,  King  Otto,  —  and  I  hate  you,  —  hate  you  with  every 
beat  of  my  heart,  that  beats  for  Rome.  King  Otto,  you  are 
doomed." 


THE    LAST    TRYST 

He  had  listened  to  her  words  with  wide,  wondering  eyes, 
his  heart  frozen  with  terror  and  anguish,  his  face  pale  as  that 
of  a  corpse,  returned  from  its  grave.  He  heard  voices  in  the 
distance  and  the  tread  of  armed  feet  coming  nearer  and  nearer. 
Yet  he  stirred  not.  His  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth. 
There  were  strange  rushing  sounds  hi  his  ears,  like  mocking 
echoes  of  Stephania's  words. 

At  last  his  lips  moved,  while  with  a  desperate  effort  he  tried 
to  shake  off  the  spell. 

"  May  God  forgive  you,  Stephania,"  he  gasped  like  a  drown 
ing  man,  reeled  and  caught  himself,  gazing  upon  her  with 
delirious,  burning  eyes. 

Closer  and  closer  came  the  tramp  of  mailed  feet. 

Terror  struck,  Stephania  gazed  into  Otto's  face.  The 
fiercest  denunciation  would  not  have  so  completely  unnerved 
her  as  the  simple  words  of  the  youth.  She  almost  succumbed 
under  the  weight  of  her  anguish. 

"  Fly,  —  King  Otto,  —  fly,  —  save  yourself,"  she  gasped, 
staggering  toward  him  hi  the  endeavour  to  shake  off  the  fatal 
torpor  which  had  seized  his  limbs.  But  he  saw  her  not,  he 
heard  not  her  warning.  Listlessly  he  gazed  into  space. 

But  had  those  who  rushed  down  the  avenue  been  his  enemies 
and  death  his  certain  lot,  there  would  not  have  been  time  for 
flight. 

Stephania  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  as  hi  their  leader  she 
recognized  the  Margrave  of  Meissen,  followed  by  a  score  or 
more  of  the  Saxon  guard. 

Her  own  fate  she  never  gave  a  thought. 

"  Do  you  hear  those  sounds  ?  "  thundered  the  gaunt  Ger 
man  leader,  rushing  with  drawn  sword  upon  the  scene  and 
pausing  breathlessly  before  Stephania's  victim.  "  Do  you  hear 
the  great  bell  of  the  Capitol,  King  Otto  ?  All  Rome  is  in 
revolt  !  Did  I  not  warn  you  against  the  wiles  of  the  accursed 
sorceress,  who,  like  a  vampire  fed  on  your  heart's  blood  ? 

369 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

But  by  the  Almighty  God,  she  shall  not  live  to  enjoy  the  fruits 
of  her  hellish  treason." 

And  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  Eckhardt  rushed  upon 
Stephania,  who  stood  calmly  awaiting  his  onslaught  and 
seemed  to  invite  the  stroke  which  threatened  her  We,  for 
her  lips  curled  hi  haughty  disdain  and  her  gaze  met  Eckhardt's 
in  lofty  scorn. 

The  sight  of  her  peril  accomplished  what  Stephania's  efforts 
had  failed  to  do.  Swift  as  thought  Otto  had  hurled  himself 
between  Eckhardt  and  his  intended  victim. 

"  Back,"  he  thundered  with  flaming  eyes.  "  Only  over  my 
dead  body  lies  the  way  to  her !  " 

Eckhardt's  arm  dropped,  while  a  wrathful  laugh  broke 
from  his  lips. 

"You  are  magnificent,  King  Otto!  Defend  the  woman 
who  has  foully  betrayed  you !  Be  it  so !  We  have  no  time  for 
argument.  Her  life  is  forfeited  and  by  the  Eternal  God,  Eck 
hardt  never  broke  his  oath.  Follow  me !  We  must  reach  the 
Aventine,  ere  the  Roman  rabble  bar  the  way.  We  are  not 
strong  enough  to  break  through  their  numbers  and  they  swarm 
like  ants." 

Otto  stirred  not. 

Calmly  he  gazed  at  the  Margrave,  as  if  the  danger  did  in  no 
wise  concern  him.  And  while  Eckhardt  stamped  his  feet  in 
impotent  rage,  mingling  a  score  or  more  pagan  imprecations 
with  the  very  unchristian  oaths  he  muttered  between  his 
clenched  teeth,  Otto  turned  to  Stephania.  His  voice  was  calm 
and  passionless  as  one's  who  has  emerged  from  a  terrible 
ordeal  and  has  nothing  more  to  lose,  nothing  more  to  fear. 

"  What  will  you  do  ?  "  he  said.  "  The  streets  are  no  safe 
thoroughfare  for  you  hi  this  night." 

"  I  know  not,  —  I  care  not,"  she  replied  with  dead  voice, 
from  which  all  its  bewitching  tones  had  faded. 

"  Then  you  must  come  with  us!  "  he  said.  "  My  men  shall 

370 


THE   LAST   TRYST 

safely  conduct  you  to  Castel  San  Angelo.  You  have  the  word 
of  their  King!" 

"  By  the  flames  of  purgatory!  Are  you  stark  mad,  King 
Otto  ?  "  roared  Eckhardt,  almost  beside  himself  with  rage. 
"  Come  with  us  she  shall,  but  as  hostage  for  Crescentius, — 
and  eye  for  eye,  —  tooth  for  tooth!  " 

He  did  not  finish.    Otto  waved  his  hand  petulantly. 

"  The  King  of  the  Germans  has  pledged  his  word  for  Ste- 
phania's  safe  conduct,  and  the  King  of  the  Germans  will  be 
obeyed,"  he  spoke,  his  voice  the  only  calm  and  passionless 
thing  hi  all  the  storm  and  uproar,  which  assailed  them  on  all 
sides.  "  Through  the  secret  passage  lies  her  only  safety. 
She  cannot  go  as  she  came !  " 

Eckhardt's  eyes  fairly  blazed  with  rage. 

"Secret  passage!"  he  roared,  nervously  gripping  the  hilt 
of  his  enormous  sword.  "  Secret  passage  ?  Are  you  raving, 
King  Otto  ?  What  secret  passage  ?  " 

But  vainly  did  the  Margrave  endeavour  to  make  his  gestures 
explain  his  denial.  Otto  cared  not,  if  indeed  he  noted  them  at 
all. 

He  beckoned  to  Stephania. 

"  Come  with  us !  "  he  spoke  in  the  same  apathetic,  listless 
tone.  "  Fear  nothing.  You  have  the  word  of  the  German 
King,  —  he  has  never  broken  it !  " 

Whether  the  terrible  reproach  implied  hi  his  words  increased 
the  stifling  anguish  in  her  heart,  whether  she  dared  not  trust 
herself  to  speak,  Stephania  silently  turned  to  go.  But  divining 
her  intent,  Otto  caught  at  her  mantle. 

"  Now  by  all  the  fiends !  "  shouted  Eckhardt,  unable  longer 
to  restrain  himself,  dashing  between  Stephania  and  the  King 
and  severing  the  latter's  hold  on  the  woman  — "  Since  your 
heart  is  set  upon  it,  I  will  not  harm  the  —  " 

He  paused  involuntarily. 

For  from  Otto's  eyes  there  flashed  upon  him  such  a  ter- 

371 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

rible  look  that  even  the  old,  practiced  warrior  stepped  back 
abashed. 

"  Speak  the  word  and  I  will  slay  you  with  my  own  hands !  " 
spoke  the  son  of  Theophano,  and  for  a  moment  subject  and 
king  faced  each  other  hi  the  dread  silence  with  flaming  eyes, 
and  faces  from  which  every  trace  of  colour  had  faded. 

Eckhardt  lowered  his  weapon. 

His  countenance  betrayed  untold  anxiety. 

"  You  invite  certain  destruction,  King  Otto,"  he  remon 
strated  with  subdued  voice.  "  What  matters  it,  if  her  country 
men  do  slay  her  ?  One  serpent  the  less  in  Rome !  Your  mercy 
leads  you  to  perdition,  —  what  mercy  has  she  shown  to  you  ?  " 

Otto  had  relapsed  into  his  former  state  of  apathy. 

"  She  goes  with  us,"  he  said  like  an  automaton,  that  knows 
but  one  speech.  "  Through  the  secret  passage  lies  her  only 
safety." 

"  She  will  betray  it  and  you  and  all  of  us,"  growled  the 
German  leader,  whose  very  beard  seemed  to  bristle  with  wrath 
at  Otto's  obstinacy. 

Otto  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  have  spoken!  " 

"  Guards,  close  round !  "  thundered  Eckhardt.  "  And 
every  dog  of  a  Roman  who  approaches  upon  any  pretext 
whatsoever,  —  strike  him  dead  without  word  or  parley!  " 

The  Saxon  spearmen  who  had  guarded  the  approach  to  the 
avenue  gathered  hurriedly  round  them.  For  at  that  moment 
the  great  bell  of  the  Capitol,  whose  tolling  had  ceased  for  a 
time,  began  its  clamour  anew  and  the  shouts  of  the  masses, 
subdued  and  hushed  during  the  interval,  rose  with  increased 
fury.  They  drowned  the  great  sob  of  anguish,  which  had 
welled  up  from  Stephania's  heart,  but  when  Otto,  his  attention 
distracted  for  the  nonce  by  the  uproar,  turned  round,  the 
woman  had  gone. 

Nor  did  Eckhardt,  inwardly  rejoicing  over  the  revelation, 

372 


THE    LAST    TRYST 

grant  him  one  moment's  respite.  Surrounded  by  his  trusty 
Saxon  spears,  Otto  felt  himself  hurried  along  towards  the  gates 
of  his  palace,  which  they  reached  in  safety,  the  insurrection 
having  not  yet  spread  to  that  region. 

Vainly  had  he  strained  his  gaze  into  the  haze  of  the  moonlit 
night.  The  end  had  come,  —  Stephania  had  gone. 

When  he  reached  his  chamber,  Otto  sank  senseless  on  the 
floor. 


373 


CHAPTER  XV 


THE   STORM   OF    CASTEL    SAN   ANGELO 


HE  sun  of  autumn  hung  like 
a  bloody  circle  over  Rome,  but 
seemed  to  give  neither  light  nor 
warmth.  The  city  itself  pre 
sented  a  seething  cauldron  of 
rebellion.  The  gates  had  been 
closed  against  the  advancing 
Germans  and  when,  with  the 
first  streak  of  dawn,  Haco  had 
arrived  under  the  Marian 
hill  with  the  contingents  from  Tivoli,  they  found  them 
selves  before  a  city,  which  had  to  be  reconquered  ere  they 
could  even  join  the  comparatively  weak  garrison  on  the 
Aventine,  where  Otto  was  a  prisoner  hi  his  own  palace.  During 
the  night  Eckhardt  had  assayed  to  reach  a  place  of  concealment 
on  the  Tiburtine  road,  where  he  awaited  the  arrival  of  his 
forces,  which  he  had  immediately  marshalled  hi  their  respective 
positions.  Castel  San  Angelo  rested  on  an  impregnable  rock, 
but  Eckhardt  had  sworn  a  terrible  oath,  that  he  would  scale 
its  walls  before  the  sun  of  another  day  rose  behind  the  Alban 
hills;  and  although  a  rain  of  arrows  and  bolts,  so  dense  and 
deadly  that  it  threatened  to  break  the  line  of  the  assailants, 
was  poured  into  the  German  ranks,  it  did  not  stay  their  de 
termined  advance. 

The  first  line  of  assault  consisted  of  heavy-armed  foot- 
soldiers  with  round  bucklers,  short  swords  and  massive  battle- 
axes.  Forming  in  close  phalanx,  these  men  of  gigantic  size, 

374 


THE    STORM    OF    SAN   ANGELO 

in  hauberks  and  round  helmets,  fixed  shield  to  shield  like  an 
iron  wall,  advanced  in  dense  array  to  the  charge.  They  were 
led  on  the  right  wing  by  the  imperial  guard,  whose  huge 
statures,  fair  long  hair  and  gleaming  halberds  formed  a  strange 
contrast  to  the  lighter  arms  and  the  more  pliant  forms  of  the 
defenders  of  Castel  San  Angelo. 

The  Roman  army,  which  the  Senator  had  stationed  round 
the  base  of  his  formidable  stronghold,  could  not  withstand  the 
shock  of  this  tremendous  phalanx,  so  far  heavier  in  arms  and 
numbers,  and  with  all  their  courage  and  skill  they  wavered 
and  broke  into  flight.  Many  were  precipitated  into  the  Tiber 
and  drowned  miserably  within  sight  of  their  helpless  comrades ; 
most  of  them  were  mowed  down  by  the  pursuing  German 
cavalry  or  shot  by  the  German  archers. 

After  the  terrible  defeat  of  the  Senator's  army  by  the  first 
line  of  Eckhardt's  battle-array,  the  squadrons  of  the  second 
line  of  battle  spread  over  the  plain,  preparatory  to  the  last  and 
final  assault.  The  vast  stronghold  of  the  Senator  looked  as 
proud  and  menacing  as  ever;  reared  upon  its  almost  impene 
trable  granite-foundation  it  formed  even  at  this  date  one  of 
the  most  powerful  fortresses  of  Western  Europe.  Its  huge 
battlements  were  defended  with  a  long  chain  of  covered  towers, 
from  which  Albanian  bowmen  shot  down  every  living  thing, 
that  approached  the  circuit  of  its  walls.  Every  attempt  to 
scale  the  lofty  stronghold  with  ladders  had  during  former 
sieges  been  beaten  off  with  fearful  loss,  after  desperate  com 
bats  at  all  hours  of  day  and  night.  Although  he  had  twice 
stormed  the  walls  of  Rome,  Eckhardt  had  never  succeeded  in 
capturing  the  fortress,  which  he  must  call  his  own,  who  would 
be  master  of  the  Seven  Hills.  But  the  wrath  of  the  Margrave 
defied  every  obstacle,  laughed  to  scorn  every  impediment 
which  might  retard  his  vengeance  upon  the  cursed  rabble  of 
Rome,  those  mongrel  curs,  with  whom  rebellion  was  a  pastime 
and  for  whom  oaths  existed  but  to  be  broken.  All  day  long 

375 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

the  Germans  had  hurled  themselves  against  the  massive 
walls,  sustaining  terrible  losses,  while  those  within  the  city 
were  equally  severe.  All  day  long  they  had  plied  their  huge 
catapults,  which  hurled  masses  of  rock  and  iron  into  the  city 
and  fortress,  keeping  up  an  incessant  bombardment.  They  also 
used  the  balista,  an  immense  fixed  cross-bar,  which  shot  bolts 
with  extraordinary  force  and  precision  upon  the  battlements, 
whereon  nothing  living  could  stand  exposed  without  certain 
destruction. 

Seated  motionless  on  his  coal-black  charger,  like  some  dark 
spirit  of  revenge,  plainly  visible  from  the  ramparts  of  Castel 
San  Angelo,  Eckhardt  directed  the  assault  of  his  army  at  this 
point,  or  that,  according  as  the  situation  required.  Many  an 
arrow  and  stone  struck  the  ground  close  by  his  side,  but  he 
seemed  to  bear  a  charmed  existence  and  never  stirred  an  inch 
from  his  chosen  vantage  ground.  Already  had  a  breach  been 
made  in  one  or  two  places  in  the  base  of  the  walls,  yet  had  he 
not  given  the  order  to  break  into  the  city,  but  seemed  to  watch 
for  some  weak  spot  in  the  defences.  It  was  verging  towards 
evening.  The  besiegers  could  hear  the  cries  and  the  rage  of 
those  within  the  walls,  who  dared  not  remain  in  the  streets 
during  the  terrific  rain  of  iron  and  stones  hurled  by  the  German 
machines.  Despite  their  strenuous  efforts,  Castel  San  Angelo 
hurled  defiance  into  the  teeth  of  the  Margrave,  who  demanded 
its  surrender,  and  the  task  of  capturing  the  stronghold,  other 
wise  than  by  starving  the  garrison,  seemed  to  hold  out  smaller 
promise  with  every  moment,  as  the  sun  hurried  on  his  western 
course.  The  sky  became  overcast  and  the  night  bade  fair  to  be 
stormy. 

During  the  assaults  of  the  day,  Eckhardt  had  many  times 
strained  his  gaze  towards  the  road  leading  to  Tivoli,  as  if  he 
expected  some  succour  from  that  direction,  when,  as  the  sun 
was  sinking  in  a  crimson  haze,  a  cloud  of  dust  met  the  general's 
gaze  and  at  the  same  moment  a  thunderous  shout  rose  from 

376 


THE    STORM    OF    SAN   ANGELO 

the  imperial  hosts.  Drawn  by  twelve  oxen,  there  appeared  at 
the  edge  of  the  plain  a  new  engine  of  assault,  which  Eckhardt 
had  ordered  constructed,  anticipating  an  emergency,  such  as 
the  present.  It  had  remained  with  the  host  hi  Tivoli,  and  despite 
the  comparatively  short  distance,  it  had  required  almost 
twenty-four  hours  to  draw  it  over  the  sloping  ground  to  Rome. 
It  was  a  tower  of  three  stages,  constructed  of  massive  beams, 
protected  by  frames  and  hides  and  crowned  with  a  stout  roof. 
It  was  now  being  rolled  forward  on  broad  heavy  wheels  to 
afford  means  of  scaling  the  walls.  As  it  slowly  approached  the 
ramparts  of  Castel  San  Angelo,  the  assault  of  the  Germans, 
renewed  on  the  whole  line  of  the  walls  with  redoubled  fury, 
presented  a  terrific  sight.  The  catapults  and  balistae  were 
pouring  stones,  bolts  and  arrows  on  the  defenders ;  the  whizzing 
of  the  missiles,  the  shouts  of  the  assailants,  answered  by  furious 
yells  from  the  walls,  the  roar  of  the  flames,  as  here  and  there 
a  house  near  the  city  walls  caught  fire  from  burning  pitch, 
made  a  truly  infernal  din. 

"  The  turret  is  within  twenty  feet  of  the  walls,  —  on  a  level 
with  the  ramparts,  —  fifteen,  —  ten  feet,  —  down  with  the 
scaling  bridge!  "  shouted  Haco,  who  was  standing  by  the  side 
of  Eckhardt.  Crashing,  the  gang-way  went  from  the  front 
of  the  pent  house.  But  as  he  spoke,  the  soft  earth,  whereon 
the  turret  stood,  gave  way.  The  gang-way  fell  short,  the  turret 
toppled  and  split.  The  besieged  hurled  on  it  bolts,  rocks, 
boiling  pitch  and  fire  balls,  and  presently  it  collapsed  with  a 
sudden  crash  and  fell  in  a  heap,  mangling  and  burying  the  men 
inside  it  and  beneath  it,  and  at  once  it  blazed  up,  a  mass  of 
burning  timber. 

"  It  is,  as  I  feared,"  said  Eckhardt.  "  No  turret  lofty  enough 
to  overtop  these  walls  can  be  brought  up  to  work  on  ground 
like  this.  We  must  resort  to  the  catapults !  Let  all  be  brought 
into  action  at  once !  " 

The  destruction  of  the  great,  movable  turret,  on  the  success 

377 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

of  which  such  hopes  and  fears  had  been  placed,  caused  the 
ranks  of  assailants  and  defenders  to  pause  for  a  space,  while 
both  were  watching  the  spectacle  of  the  blazing  pile.  A  lull 
ensued  hi  the  storm  of  battle,  during  which  Eckhardt,  while 
he  seemed  to  direct  his  men  towards  a  certain  point  near  the 
walls,  never  released  his  gaze  from  Castel  San  Angelo.  Then 
he  gave  a  whispered  order  to  Haco,  who  set  off  at  once  on  its 
execution.  An  appalling  crash  rent  the  sky,  as  the  German 
machines  began  their  simultaneous  attack  on  the  walls  of 
Rome,  while  a  storming-column,  forming  under  their  protec 
tion,  rushed  forth  towards  the  gates  of  the  city.  The  strain  on 
the  mind  of  Eckhardt,  who  alone  knew  the  intense  crisis  of 
that  moment,  was  almost  unbearable.  He  must  succeed  this 
very  night;  for  on  the  morrow  the  peremptory  order  of  the 
Electors  would  recall  his  forces  beyond  the  Alps.  There  would 
be  no  respite;  there  could  be  no  resistance.  His  only  sal 
vation  lay  in  their  undaunted  courage  and  their  ignorance 
of  the  impending  decree. 

The  evening  grew  more  and  more  sultry. 

At  intervals  a  gust  came  flying,  raising  the  white  dust 
and  rustling  in  the  dying  leaves.  It  passed  by,  leaving  the 
stillness  on  the  Aventine  more  still  than  before.  Nothing 
was  to  be  heard,  save  the  dull,  seemingly  subterranean 
growls  of  thunder,  and  against  this  low  threatening  and  sullen 
roar  the  pounding  of  Eckhardt's  catapults  against  the  walls. 
At  times  a  flash  broke  across  the  clouds;  then  all  stood  out 
sharp  and  clear  against  the  increasing  darkness.  Only  the 
watchfires  of  Castel  San  Angelo  were  reflected  hi  the  sluggish 
tide  of  the  Tiber,  from  which  rose  noisome  odours  of  back 
water,  rotting  fern  leaves  and  decaying  wood. 

The  Piazza,  of  St.  Peter  meanwhile  presented  a  singular 
spectacle,  congested  as  it  was  with  a  multitude,  which,  hi  the 
glare  of  the  lightning,  resembled  one  waving  mass  of  heads,  — 
a  cornfield  before  it  has  been  swept  by  a  tornado.    It  was  an 

378 


THE   STORM    OF    SAN   ANGELO 

infuriated  mob,  which  listened  to  the  harangue  of  Benilo, 
interrupting  the  same  ever  and  ever  with  the  hysterical 
shout:  "Death  to  the  Saxon!  Death  to  the  Emperor!" 

"  Blood  of  St.  John!  "  exclaimed  an  individual  hi  the  coarse 
brown  garb  of  a  smith,  "  Why  do  we  bellow  here  ?  Let  us 
to  the  Aventine  —  to  the  Aventine !  " 

His  eye  met  that  of  II  Gobbo  the  grave-digger.  He 
pounced  upon  him  like  an  eagle  on  his  prey,  shaking  him  by 
the  shoulder. 

"  Gobbo!  Dog  !  Assassin!  Art  deaf  to  good  news!  I 
tell  thee,  there  is  strife  in  the  city,  —  some  new  sedition!  It 
may  be  that  our  friends  have  conquered  —  down  with  the 
tyrant  and  oppressor!  Down  with  the  Saxon!  Down  with 
everything !  " 

And  he  laughed  —  a  hoarse,  mad  laughter. 

"  We  Romans  shall  yet  be  free,  —  think  of  it,  thou  villain,  — 
a  thousand  curses  on  thee !  " 

The  artisan  had  correctly  interpreted  the  temper  of  the 
Romans,  when  he  raised  his  shout :  To  the  Aventine !  To  the 
Aventine ! 

"Romans!  We  give  our  enemies  red  war!  War  to  the 
knife !  "  screamed  the  speaker  at  the  conclusion  of  his  harangue. 

"Death  to  the  Saxons!  Death  to  the  King!"  came  the 
answering  yell. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  some  partisan  of  the  King  ventured 
to  reason  with  the  mob.  It  was  impossible  to  distinguish  in 
the  ensuing  melee,  but  in  the  distance  a  man  was  being  tossed 
and  torn  by  the  mob.  For  a  moment  his  white  face  rose  above 
the  sea  of  heads,  with  all  the  despair  which  a  drowning  man 
shows,  when  it  rises  for  the  last  time  above  the  waves,  then 
it  sank  back  and  something  mangled  and  shapeless  was  flung 
out  into  the  great  Piazza,  where  it  lay  still. 

"  To  the  Aventine !  To  the  Aventine !  "  shouted  the  mob, 
and  armed  with  all  sorts  of  rude  weapons  they  trooped  off, 

379 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

brandishing  their  clubs  and  staves  and  shouting  confused 
maledictions. 

Count  Ludeger  of  the  Palatinate,  to  whom  Eckhardt  had 
entrusted  the  King's  safety,  had  made  sure  that  all  approaches 
were  locked  and  barred,  while  he  had  disposed  his  spearmen 
and  archers  in  such  a  manner  as  to  make  it  appear,  in  the 
case  of  assault,  that  he  commanded  a  much  superior  number, 
than  were  actually  at  his  disposal. 

The  warlike  Count  Palatine,  who,  aroused  on  an  alarm,  had 
instantly  equipped  himself  with  casque  and  sword,  stood  listen 
ing  to  what  was  passing  outside,  sniffing  the  air  and  rolling 
his  eyes  as  it  he  desired  nothing  better  than  a  conflict.  Ar 
ranging  his  archers  round  the  barred  gate,  with  the  order  to 
hold  their  bows  in  readiness,  he  descended  to  the  entrance 
which  was  surrounded  by  a  howling  mob,  who  demanded 
admittance  or,  if  denied,  declared  they  would  enter  by  force. 
After  having  surveyed  the  assailants  through  a  wicket,  and 
having  convinced  himself  that  they  were  of  the  baser  class, 
he  demanded  to  speak  with  the  leader  of  the  mob.  A  surly 
individual,  armed  with  a  club,  came  boldly  forward  and  de 
manded  to  see  the  King. 

"  For  what  purpose  ?  "  asked  the  Count  Palatine. 

"  That  is,  —  as  we  choose !  "  replied  the  ruffian. 

By  this  time  the  archers  had  mounted  the  roof  of  the  palace, 
while  Count  Ludeger  stood  hi  the  foreground.  To  him  the 
routing  of  such  a  rabble  seemed  a  task  not  worth  speaking  of, 
and  it  was  not  his  intention  to  parley.  He  dared  not  open  the 
gates  until  he  was  prepared  to  act,  therefore  mounting  a 
balcony  in  the  upper  story  of  the  palace,  which  looked  over 
the  entrance,  he  stood  fully  visible  from  where  the  invaders 
stood,  whose  numbers  swelled  with  every  moment.  Then 
advancing  to  the  parapet,  he  made  a  signal,  demanding  silence, 
and  spoke  in  a  voice  audible  to  every  ear  in  the  throng : 

"  Dogs !  You  came  hither  thinking  the  palace  was  def ence- 

380 


THE    STORM    OF    SAN    ANGELO 

less.  You  wish  to  see  the  King.  Off!  Away  with  your  foul 
odours  and  your  yelping  throats !  And  If  when  you  have  turned 
tail,  any  cur  among  you  dares  bark  back,  he  shall  pay  for  it 
with  an  arrow  through  his  chine !  Away  with  you!  " 

The  crowd  seemed  to  waver  and  to  look  for  their  leader, 
but  the  Count  Palatine  gave  them  little  time.  Raising  his 
hand  he  waved  a  signal  to  the  archers.  The  low  growling  and 
snarling  of  the  mob  swelled  to  a  yell  of  terror,  as  three  score 
or  more  of  their  number  fell  under  the  hail  of  arrows.  At  the 
same  moment  the  gate  of  the  palace  was  thrown  open  and  the 
guards  charged  the  Roman  mob  with  drawn  swords,  mowing 
down  all  that  were  in  their  path.  Back  fell  the  first  rank  of 
the  rioters,  pressing  against  those  in  the  rear,  and  with  an 
outcry  of  terror  the  crowd  scattered  in  flight. 

From  the  balcony  of  his  palace,  Otto  had  witnessed  the 
scene  which  had  just  come  to  a  close.  He  saw  hatred  and 
vengeance  around  him  in  the  eyes  of  the  populace.  He  knew 
himself  to  be  hated,  deserted,  betrayed,  most  unjustly,  most 
cruelly,  despite  all  he  had  done  for  the  state  and  the  people. 
After  the  mob  had  departed,  he  retreated  to  his  chamber. 
Here  his  strength  seemed  utterly  to  forsake  him.  Calling  his 
attendants,  they  took  from  him  his  cloak,  his  diadem,  and 
his  sword  of  state,  they  unlaced  the  imperial  buskins  and  gilt 
mail,  in  which  he  was  encased.  He  seemed  eager  to  fling  from 
him  his  gilded  trappings,  while  his  attendants  watched  him  in 
perplexity  and  fear.  He  spoke  not,  nor  gave  any  sign. 

At  length  Count  Ludeger,  presuming  on  his  high  office, 
broke  the  silence. 

"  By  the  Mother  of  God,  we  pray  you,  shake  off  this  grief 
and  take  heed  of  the  manifold  perils  which  surround  your 
throne  and  life.  You  are  surrounded  with  traitors,  intrigues 
and  plots !  And  the  one  —  once  nearest  to  your  heart  is  your 
greatest  foe !  " 

Otto  raised  his  head  and  glared  at  the  speaker  like  a  lion 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

at  bay,  but  spoke  not,  and  again  covered  his  face  and  sank 
upon  the  couch. 

The  storm  clouds  gathering  over  Rome  were  scarce  as  dark 
as  those  on  Count  Ludeger's  brow.  For  a  time  intense  silence 
prevailed.  At  last,  carried  away  by  Otto's  mute  despair,  the 
Curopalates  ventured  to  approach  the  King  and  whispered  a 
word  hi  his  ear. 

Otto  looked  up,  pale,  staring. 

Count  Ludeger  advanced  and  knelt  before  the  emperor. 

"  My  liege  —  what  shall  I  say  to  the  Electors  ?  " 

There  was  a  breathless  silence. 

Then  Otto  raised  himself  erect  on  his  couch. 

"  Say  to  them,  —  that  I  will  die  hi  Rome  —  hi  Rome  —  " 

He  checked  himself  and  looked  round. 

"  Leave  me!  Begone  all  of  you!  "  he  said.  "  Set  double 
guards  at  the  doors  of  this  chamber  and  admit  no  one  on  pain 
of  death.  —  I  choose  to  be  alone  to-night !  " 

"  And  may  not  I  even  share  my  sovereign's  solitude  ?  " 
questioned  Benilo  with  a  look  of  feigned  concern  hi  his  eyes. 

"  I  wish  to  be  alone ! "  Otto  replied,  then  he  beckoned 
Count  Ludeger  to  his  side.  After  all  had  departed,  the  King 
turned  to  the  Count  Palatine. 

"  Can  we  hold  out  ?  " 

The  Count's  visage  reflected  deep  gloom. 

"  All  Rome  is  hi  the  throes  of  revolt !  All  day  Eckhardt  has 
been  pounding  the  walls  of  Castel  San  Angelo  —  to  no  avail! '" 

"  He  will  storm  the  traitor's  lair,"  Otto  replied,  "  but  then  ?  " 
he  questioned  as  one  dream-lost. 

Ludeger  pointed  to  Northward.  With  a  deep  moan  Otto's 
head  drooped  and  the  scalding  tears  streamed  down  between 
bis  fingers.  Betrayed  —  betrayed!  Not  by  Crescentius,  his 
natural,  his  hereditary  foe,  but  by  the  woman  whom  he  had 
loved,  whom  he  had  worshipped,  whom  he  still  loved  above 
all  else  on  earth.  What  was  the  possession  of  Rome,  the  rule 

382 


THE    STORM    OF    SAN    ANGELO 

of  the  universe,  to  him  without  her  ?  He  could  picture  to 
himself  no  happiness  away  from  her. 

When  Otto  looked  up,  Count  Ludeger  was  gone. 

For  a  time  there  was  stillness,  deep,  intense. 

A  dazzling  flash  of  light,  succeeded  by  a  deafening  peal  of 
thunder,  that  was  like  the  wrath  of  a  mighty  God,  —  then  came 
darkness,  the  howling  of  the  storm,  the  sobbing  of  bells  tossed 
and  broken  by  the  hurricane,  into  a  wraith  of  dirge,  —  and 
now,  as  by  some  fantastic  freak  of  nature,  as  the  wind  rose 
higher  and  higher,  the  iron  tongue  of  the  bell  from  the  Capitol 
came  wrangling  and  discordant  through  the  air,  as  if  tortured 
by  some  demon  of  despair.  But  the  howlings  and  the  tempest 
and  the  roar  of  the  thunder  had  a  third,  most  terrible  ally  to  make 
that  night  memorable  hi  Rome.  It  was  the  wrath  of  Eckhardt, 
the  Margrave,  as  he  marshalled  his  hosts  to  the  assault.  Terror- 
stricken  the  cowardly  Romans  scattered  before  the  iron 
avalanches  that  swept  down  upon  them.  The  scythe  of  the 
enraged  mower  made  wide  gaps  in  their  lists  and  the  dead  and 
dying  strewed  the  field  in  every  direction.  Little  did  Eckhardt 
care  how  many  he  mangled  and  maimed  under  the  hoofs  of 
his  iron-shod  charger.  Had  all  Rome  been  but  one  huge 
funeral  pyre,  he  would  have  exulted.  Rome  had  not  been  kind 
to  him  and  the  hour  of  vengeance  was  at  hand  at  last! 

The  broken  clangour  of  the  bells  of  Rome,  the  bellowing  of 
the  thunder  through  the  valleys,  the  howling  of  the  storm  — 
and  the  shouts  of  the  storming  files  of  his  Germans  struck 
Otto's  ear  hi  fitful  pauses. 

For  this  then  he  had  journeyed  to  Rome!  This  was  to  be 
the  end  of  the  dream!  —  The  man  he  had  trusted  was  a 
traitor!  The  woman  whose  kisses  still  burnt  upon  his  lips 
had  sold,  betrayed  him.  The  candle  sank  lower  and  the 
shadows  deepened;  but  the  tempest  howled  like  a  legion  of 
demons  over  the  seven-hilled  city  of  Rome. 

What  caused  him  to  raise  his  head  after  a  period  of  brooding, 

383 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

Otto  knew  not,  nor  why  the  opposite  wall  with  its  drear  flitting 
shadows  held  his  gaze  spellbound.  To  his  utter  discomfiture 
and  amazement  he  saw  the  Venus  panel  noiselessly  open,  a 
shadow  glided  into  the  chamber  and  the  panel  closed  behind  it. 

Ere  Otto  could  utter  a  word,  Stephania  stood  before  him. 

He  rose  and  receded  before  her,  as  one  would  before  a 
spectre.  Hungrily,  madly  his  eyes  gazed  into  her  pale  face, 
despairingly.  A  strange  fire  was  alight  in  her  orbs,  as  once 
more  she  stood  face  to  face  with  the  youth,  whose  soul  she  had 
absorbed  as  the  vampire  the  soul  of  his  victim. 

With  fingers  tightly  interlaced  she  stood  before  him,  then, 
as  he  would  not  speak,  she  said  with  a  strange  smile : 

"  You  see,  — •  I  have  come  back." 

He  made  no  reply,  but  receded  from  her  as  some  evil  spirit 
to  the  farthest  nook  of  the  chamber. 

For  a  time  she  seemed  at  a  loss  how  to  proceed;  when  she 
spoke  again,  there  was  a  strange,  jarring  tone  in  her  voice. 

"  Fear  nothing !  "  she  said,  a  great  sadness  vibrating  hi  her 
speech.  "  I  came  not  hither  to  renew  old  scenes.  What  has 
been  is  past  for  ever!  Strange,  that  I  had  to  come  into  your 
life,  King  Otto,  or  that  you  had  to  cross  the  line  of  mine, — 
who  is  to  blame  ?  You  have  once  told  me  that  you  believe  in 
a  Force,  called  Fate.  You  have  convinced  me  now,  —  even 
if  my  own  suffering  had  not." 

"  How  came  you  here  ?  "  Otto  spoke,  hardly  above  a  whisper. 

Stephania  pointed  below. 

"  Through  the  secret  passage !  " 

Otto  started. 

"  Mother  of  Christ!  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Had  they  seen  you 
they  would  have  killed  you." 

A  smile  of  disdain  curved  her  lips. 

"  I  should  have  welcomed  the  release." 

"  But  what  do  you  want  here  —  and  at  this  hour  ?  " 

"  Your  Saxons  are  storming  Castel  San  Angelo.  By  a 

384 


THE    STORM    OF    SAN    ANGELO 

feigned  attack  they  lured  its  defenders  to  a  part  of  the  ramparts, 
where  no  real  danger  threatened,  but  to  scale  the  walls  on  their 
rear.  Send  a  messenger  to  Eckhardt  to  desist.  Crescentius 
is  ready  to  treat  for  honourable  terms." 

If  there  was  indeed  truth  in  her  words,  the  message  was  lost 
on  him,  to  whom  it  was  conveyed.  His  heart  was  dead  to  the 
voice  of  gladness,  as  it  was  dead  to  any  added  pang  of  misery. 

"  Thrice  the  Senator  of  Rome  has  broken  his  word !  His  fate 
lies  with  himself !  "  he  replied  with  a  shrug. 

Stephania's  pallor  deepened. 

She  stared  at  Otto  out  of  large  fear-struck  eyes. 

"  You  would  not  give  him  over  to  your  Saxons  ?  "  she 
spoke  impulsively. 

"  They  will  take  him  without  that!  " 

"  Castel  San  Angelo  has  never  been  taken,  —  it  shall  never 
be  taken !  Bang  Otto !  Think  how  many  of  your  best  soldiers 
will  be  crushed  and  mangled  in  the  assault,  —  be  merci 
ful  !  " 

"  Has  Crescentius  been  merciful  to  me  ?  I  came  not  hither 
to  deprive  him  of  his  own.  —  I  have  not  struck  at  the  root  of 
his  life.  —  He  has  taken  from  me  the  faith  in  all  that  is 
human  and  divine,  —  and  through  you!  A  noble  game  you 
have  played  for  my  soul !  You  have  won,  Stephania !  But  the 
blood  of  Crescentius  be  on  his  own  head!  " 

There  was  a  lull  in  the  uproar  of  the  elements  without; 
but  new  banks  of  threatening  clouds  were  hurrying  from  the 
West,  gathering  like  armies  of  vengeful  spirits  over  the  Seven- 
Hilled  City,  and  shutting  off  every  breath  of  air. 

An  oppression  throbbing  with  nameless  fears  was  upon 
them,  —  a  hush,  as  if  life  had  ceased. 

Stephania,  urged  by  a  strange  dread,  had  stepped  to  the 
high  oval  window  whence  a  view  of  Castel  San  Angelo  was  to 
be  obtained.  And  as  she  gazed  out  into  the  night  with  wildly 
throbbing  heart,  she  grew  faint  and  wide-eysd  for  terror,  A 

385 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

dull    roar,  like  muffled    thunder,  ceaselessly  recurring,   the 
terrible  shouts  of  Eckhardt's  Saxons  reached  her  ear. 

Would  the  walls  withstand  their  assault,  ere  she  returned, 
or  would  the  defenders  yield  under  the  terrible  hail  of  iron  and 
leave  the  Senator  of  Rome  to  his  doom  ?  Like  knells  of  destiny 
boom  upon  boom  resounded  through  the  wail  of  the  rising  gale. 

She  pressed  her  hands  despairingly  against  her  temples,  as 
if  to  calm  their  tempestuous  throbbing,  and  her  lips  muttered 
a  prayer,  while  broken  voices  came   through  the  storm,— 
fragments  of  a  chant  from  near-by  cloisters : 

"  Ave  Maria  —  Gratia  Plena  —  Summa  parens  clementiae  — 
Nocte  surgentes  —  " 

Otto  had  tiptoed  to  the  doors  of  the  chamber  and  after 
carefully  listening  had  locked  them.  The  order  he  had  given 
to  admit  no  one  would  secure  for  him  a  few  moments  of 
immunity  from  interruption  from  without.  Supporting  him 
self  against  a  casement  he  endeavoured  to  master  the  awful 
agony,  which  upheaved  his  soul  at  the  sight  of  the  woman  who 
had  played  with  his  holiest  affections;  he  tried  to  speak  once, 
twice,  but  his  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth.  He 
thought  he  would  choke. 

The  brazen  blast  of  a  trumpet  from  the  battlements  of 
Castel  San  Angelo  caused  him  to  approach  and  to  step  behind 
Stephania.  In  the  now  almost  continuous  glare  of  the  light 
ning  troops  could  be  seen  moving  slowly  along  the  walls  and 
base  of  the  fortress.  The  air  pealed  with  acclamations.  A 
thousand  arrows  from  Frisian  bowmen  swept  the  defenders 
from  the  walls.  The  battlements  were  left  naked;  ladders 
were  raised,  ropes  were  slung,  axes  were  brandished ;  of  every 
crevice  and  projection  of  the  wall  the  assailants  availed  them 
selves;  they  climbed  on  each  other's  shoulders,  they  leaped 
from  point  to  point;  torches  without  number  were  now 
showered  on  every  thing  that  was  combustible.  At  length  a 
stockade  near  the  central  defence  took  fire. 

386 


THE   STORM   OF   SAN   ANGELO 

They  fought  no  longer  in  darkness.  The  flames  rolled 
sheet  on  sheet  upon  their  heads,  mingling  their  glare  with  that 
of  the  blazing  horizon.  But  the  issue  was  no  longer  doubtful. 
Castel  San  Angelo  was  doomed.  No  longer  it  vindicated  its 
claim  to  being  impregnable.  The  defenders,  reduced  in  num 
ber,  exhausted  by  the  ever  and  ever  renewed  and  desperate 
attacks,  staring  in  the  face  of  certain  defeat,  were  becoming 
visibly  disheartened. 

Spellbound,  both  viewed  the  spectacle,  which  unfolded 
itself  to  their  awe-struck  gaze.  But  there  was  no  flush  of 
victory  in  Otto's  face,  no  gladness  in  his  eyes  as,  sick  at  the 
sight,  he  turned  away.  His  eyes  returned  to  the  woman 
whose  half-averted  face  shone  out  in  the  glow  of  the  con 
flagration.  Never  had  it  seemed  to  him  so  mystic,  so  unearthly, 
so  fair. 

The  storm  was  drawing  nearer;  the  thunder  bellowed 
louder  through  the  heavens,  the  lightning  flashes  grew  ever 
brighter;  the  great  bell  from  the  Capitol,  the  lesser  bells  of 
Rome,  still  shrieked  forth  their  insistent  clamour  on  the  sultry 
air. 

She  silently  drew  near  him,  fixing  him  with  her  wondrous 
eyes. 

At  that  moment  the  lightning  rent  the  clouds  and  flashed 
on  her  pale  face.  A  peal  of  thunder,  now  quite  overhead, 
shook  earth  and  sky,  rolling  through  the  air  in  majestic 
reverberations.  Slowly  it  died  away  into  the  great  silence, 
now  again  rent  and  broken  by  the  German  catapults,  by  the 
renewed  shouts  of  the  defenders  and  assailants.  Up  to  this 
moment  Stephania  had  still  hoped  that  Castel  San  Angelo 
would  defy  the  united  assaults  of  the  storming  Saxons;  sud 
denly,  however,  a  shriek  broke  from  her  lips,  she  turned  away 
from  the  window  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  Then  she 
rushed  to  where  Otto  was  witnessing  the  progress  of  the  assault 
and  fell  on  her  knees  before  him. 

387 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

"  Save  him ! "  she  moaned,  raising  her  white  clasped 
hands  hi  despairing  entreaty.  "  Save  him!  Save  him!  " 

He  raised  her  and,  looking  into  her  face,  he  read  therein 
remorse  and  helpless  entreaty.  He  knew  that  the  moment 
was  irrevocable  for  both,  final  and  solemn  as  death.  He  felt 
he  must  break  the  pregnant  silence,  yet  no  word  came  to  his 
lips.  The  more  he  forced  his  will,  to  find  a  solution,  the  more 
conscious  he  became  of  his  own  powerlessness  and  the  depth 
of  the  abyss  which  must  divide  them  for  ever  more. 

"Save  him,  Otto  —  save  him!"  she  moaned,  stretching 
out  her  arms  towards  him,  —  "  You  alone  can  —  you  alone." 

He  receded  from  her. 

"  I  could  not  save  him,  even  if  I  would !  " 

But  the  woman  became  frantic  in  her  fear. 

The  consciousness  of  the  terrible  wrong  which  Crescentius 
had  suffered  at  her  hands,  though  the  most  subtle  scrutiny  of 
her  heart  failed  to  accuse  her  of  a  deed,  unworthy  herself, 
the  unwitting  instrument  of  Fate,  added  to  her  despair.  She 
must  save  the  Senator  of  Rome,  even  if  she  should  herself  pay 
the  penalty  of  the  crime  of  high  treason,  of  which  he  stood 
accused. 

"  You  will  not  have  it  said  that  you  crushed  your  foe  under 
your  heels,"  she  cried.    "  You  are  too  kind,  too  generous,  — 
Otto!    The  Senator's  resistance  is  broken.    He  could  not  rise 
a  fourth  time,  if  he  would  —  you  have  conquered.    Otto,  — for 
my  saker  —  by  the  memory  of  the  past  —  " 

He  raised  his  arms.     Now  he  was  himself. 

"  Stop!  "  he  said.     "  Why  conjure  up  that  memory  which 
you  have  so  cruelly  poisoned  and  defiled  ?    There  was  nothing, 
—  even  to  life  itself,  —  that  I  would  not  have  given  to  you 
in  exchange  for  your  love  —  " 

"  But  that  it  was  not  mine  to  give !  "  she  moaned.  "  Can 
you  not  see  ?  " 

"  You  should  have  remembered  that,  ere  you  slowly  but 

388 


THE   STORM    OF   SAN   ANGELO 

surely  wove  your  net  of  deception  round  my  heart.  I  loved 
you !  Foe  of  mine,  as  I  knew  you  to  be,  I  trusted  you !  See, 
how  you  have  requited  this  trust!  See,  what  you  have  made 
of  me!  You  but  entered  my  life  to  wreck  it!  Once  I  loved 
the  hours  and  the  days  and  the  nights  and  the  stars,  now  my 
heart  is  a  burnt-out  volcano.  And  you  who  have  taken  all 
my  life  from  me,  now  come  to  me  crying  for  mercy  for  him,  who 
showed  such  wondrous  mercy  for  me!  And  you  too  — you! 
Did  no  pity  ever  enter  your  heart,  when  you  saw  that  you  were 
mercilessly  chaining  my  life  to  despair  ?  And  after  you  re 
vealed  yourself  his  instrument,  —  Stephania,  are  you  so  mad 
as  to  think,  that  I  would  save  the  man  who  insidiously  wrecked 
my  life  ?  " 

Almost  frozen  with  horror  Stephania  had  listened  to  the  voice 
she  loved  so  well.  The  card  she  had  played,  the  appeal  to  his 
generous  nature,  had  lost.  She  might  have  foreseen  it.  But 
her  wondrous  beauty  still  exercised  its  fatal  spell.  The  moments 
were  flying.  She  must  save  Crescentius  from  Eckhardt's 
wrath. 

"  You  once  told  me  that  you  loved  me,"  she  spoke  with 
choked,  dry  throat.  "  You  accuse  me  of  having  deceived 
you  —  ah!  how  little  versed  you  are  in  reading  a  woman's 
heart!" 

And  approaching  him  as  of  old,  she  took  his  hands  into 
hers. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Otto  replied,  while  her  touch  sent 
the  hot  blood  hurtling  through  his  veins.  "  Some  new  conceit, 
to  gain  your  end  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  while  she  gazed  despairingly  toward  the 
Senator's  last  defence. 

"  This  is  not  the  time,"  she  gasped.  "  On  every  moment 
hangs  a  life!  Otto,  save  him!  Save  him  for  my  sake!  Can 
you  not  see  that  I  love  you  ?  Think  you,  else  I  should  be 
here  ?  Can  you  not  see  that  this  is  my  last  atonement  ?  Oh, 

389 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

do  not  let  me  be  guilty  of  this  too  !  Save  him,  —  save  him, 
ere  it  is  too  late !  "  she  moaned,  kneeling  without  releasing  his 
hands,  on  which  she  rested  her  head.  "Save  him,  —  save 
him,  King  Otto  —  or  his  blood  be  on  your  head !  " 

"  On  my  head  ?  On  my  head  ?  "  exclaimed  Otto.  "  Heaven 
that  has  witnessed  your  unfathomable  treachery  can  never 
ratify  this  invocation !  Never!  Never!" 

She  glanced  up  despairingly. 

"  Otto — -he  knows  all!  All!  I  saw  it  in  his  looks  —  though 
he  never  spoke. — He  knows  —  that  —  I  love  you!  " 

"  Then  you  do  love  me  ?  "  Otto  replied  with  large  wondering 
eyes. 

"  Ask  your  own  heart,  —  it  will  answer  for  mine !  " 

"  Then  if  you  love  me,  —  be  mine,  —  my  wife,  —  my 
queen !  " 

"  How  can  I  answer  you  at  this  moment,  how  can  I  ? 
Look  yonder,  —  the  stockades  are  afire,  —  your  Saxons  are 
scaling  the  walls,  —  Otto,  —  will  you  have  it  said  that  you 
killed  him  to  possess  me  ?  " 

He  snatched  his  hands  away  from  her. 

"But  how  can  I  save  him,  Stephania  ?  —  Collect  your 
woman's  wit !  How  can  I  ?  " 

"Oh,  how  they  swarm  on  the  parapets!"  she  moaned. 
"  Mercy,  King  Otto,  —  ere  it  be  too  late !  " 

"  Let  not  the  King  know  the  mercy  in  Otto's  heart,"  he 
replied  between  irresolution  and  resentment.  "  But  how  can 
I  reach  Eckhardt  ?  And  think  you  my  messenger  would  move 
him  ?  Think  you,  he  would  listen  to  me  ?  " 

"  You  are  the  sovereign!  The  King!  Have  you  none  that 
you  can  send,  that  you  can  trust  ?  None,  fleet  of  foot  and 
discreet  ?  " 

Otto  pondered. 

Stephania's  gaze  was  riveted  on  his  face,  as  the  eye  of 
the  criminal  about  to  be  condemned,  hangs  on  the  countenance 

390 


THE    STORM    OF    SAN   ANGELO 

of  his  judge,  who  speaks  the  sentence.  At  this  moment  loud 
shouts  came  through  the  storm.  The  Germans  were  hoisting 
new  ladders  for  the  assault.  In  the  glare  of  the  conflagration 
and  the  incessant  lightning  they  could  be  discerned  swarming 
like  ants. 

Castel  San  Angelo  appeared  doomed  indeed. 

Otto  pushed  Stephania  into  a  recess,  then  he  made  one 
bound  towards  the  door.  In  the  anteroom  sat  Benilo,  the 
Chamberlain.  His  usually  placid  countenance  seemed  in  the 
throes  of  a  tremendous  strain.  Which  way  would  the  scales 
sink  in  the  balance  ?  A  straw  might  turn  the  tide  of  Fate. 
Benilo  waited.  He  held  the  last  card  hi  the  great  game.  He 
would  only  play  it  at  the  last  moment. 

As  Otto  appeared  on  the  threshold,  he  glanced  up,  then  arose 
hurriedly. 

"  Victory  is  crowning  your  arms,  King  Otto!"  he  fawned, 
pointing  in  the  region  of  the  assault.  "  Soon  your  hereditary 
foe  will  be  a  myth  —  a  —  " 

Otto  waved  his  hand  impatiently. 

"Hasten  to  Castel  San  Angelo,  —  take  the  secret  pas 
sage! —  You  may  yet  arrive  in  time  to  place  this  order  in 
Eckhardt's  hands !  —  Hurry  -  -  on  every  moment  hangs  a 
life." 

"  A  life,"  gasped  the  Chamberlain.    "  Whose  life  ?  " 

"The  Senator's!" 

"  Ah!  It  is  the  order  for  his  execution!  "  Benilo  extended 
his  hand,  to  receive  the  scroll,  while  a  strange  fire  gleamed 
in  his  eyes.  He  had  waited  wisely. 

"  It  is  the  order  for  Eckhardt,  —  to  spare  him !  Hasten ! 
Lose  not  a  moment !  Through  the  secret  passage !  " 

Benilo  stared  in  Otto's  face  as  if  he  thought  he  had  gone 
mad. 

"  Spare  Crescentius  ?  Your  enemy  ?  Spare  the  viper,  that 
has  thrice  stung  you  with  its  poison  fang  ?  " 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

"  I  implore  you  by  our  friendship,  —  go !  —  I  will  explain 
all  to  you  at  a  fitter  hour;  —  now  there  is  not  time." 

"  Spare  Crescentius ! "  Benilo  repeated  as  if  he  were  still 
unable  to  grasp  the  meaning. 

"  The  Senator's  men  will  lay  no  impediment  hi  your  way,  — 
and  to  my  Germans  you  are  known.  —  You  will,  —  you  must 
—  arrive  hi  time  —  I  pray  you  hasten  —  be  gone  —  " 

A  sudden  light  of  understanding  seemed  to  flash  athwart 
Benilo's  pale  features.  Through  the  open  door  he  had  seen  a 
woman's  gown. 

Snatching  up  his  skull-cap,  he  placed  the  order  intrusted 
to  him  inside  his  doublet. 

"  I  hasten,"  he  spoke.    "  Not  a  moment  shall  be  lost !  " 

And  rushing  out  of  the  chamber,  he  disappeared. 

Stephania  had  listened  hi  awestruck  wonder.  What  was 
the  friend  of  the  Senator,  the  man  who  had  counselled  the  up 
rising,  doing  in  the  imperial  ante-chamber  at  this  hour  ? 
But,  —  perchance  this  was  but  another  mesh  in  the  great 
web  of  intrigue,  which  the  Romans  had  spun  round  their 
unsuspecting  foes.  Perhaps,  —  she  trembled,  as  she  thought 
out  the  thought,  —  he  was  to  seize  the  King,  if  Crescentius 
was  victorious.  He  had  never  left  the  youth.  —  Had  the 
Chamberlain  become  his  sovereign's  jailer  ?  The  ideas  rushed 
confusedly  through  her  brain,  where  but  the  one  faint  hope 
still  glimmered,  that  Crescentius  would  escape  his  doom. 

When  Otto  entered,  she  held  out  both  hands  to  him. 

"  How  can  I  thank  you  !  " 

He  warded  them  off,  and  stepped  to  the  window,  whence  the 
progress  of  the  assault  could  be  watched  in  the  intermittent 
flashes  of  lightning.  The  raging  storm  had  temporarily 
drowned  the  signals  and  cries  of  the  combatants,  but  though 
the  clouds  hung  low  and  heavily  freighted  over  the  city,  net 
a  drop  of  rain  fell.  The  lightning  became  more  incessant; 
soon  it  seemed  as  if  the  entire  horizon  was  ablaze  and  the 

392 


THE    STORM    OF   SAN   ANGELO 

thunder  bellowed  in  one  continuous  roar  over  the  Seven 
Hills. 

Stephania  had  stepped  to  Otto's  side. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  said  with  indescribable  mournfulness  in 
her  tones.  "  My  place  is  by  his  side !  Living  —  or  dead ! 
Farewell,  King  Otto,  and  forgive  —  if  you  can !  " 

She  stretched  out  her  hands  towards  him.  It  seemed  to 
him,  as  if  a  dark  veil  was  suddenly  drawn  before  his  eyes.  De 
spite  the  lightning  there  was  nothing  but  a  great  darkness 
around  him.  His  victory  would  cause  a  wider,  more  abysmal 
gulf  between  them  than  his  defeat. 

If  she  went  from  him  in  this  hour,  he  knew  they  would  never 
meet  on  earth  again. 

At  her  words  he  turned  and  vainly  endeavouring  to  steady 
his  voice,  he  spoke. 

"  Stephania,  —  I  cannot  let  you  go!  Remain  here,  until 
the  worst  is  over!  It  would  mean  certain  death  to  you,  if  my 
men  discovered  you,  —  and  perhaps  you  would  hardly  escape 
a  similar  fate  at  the  hands  of  your  own  countrymen." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  My  place  is  by  his  side,  —  no  matter  what  befall!  If  I 
am  killed,  —  never  was  death  more  welcome!  Farewell,  Otto 
—  farewell  —  " 

Her  voice  broke.  She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and 
sobbed  piteously. 

He  drew  them  down  with  gentle  force. 

"  It  is  not  my  purpose  to  detain  you  here !  All  I  ask  of  you, 
is  to  wait,  until  my  order  has  had  time  to  reach  Eckhardt. 
After  the  Senator  has  yielded,  —  you  may  go  to  him,  —  I  will 
then  myself  have  you  escorted  to  Castel  San  Angelo.  For  the 
sake  of  the  past,  —  wait !  " 

"The  past!  The  past!  That  can  never,  never  be  re 
vived  !  "  she  moaned.  "  Oh,  that  I  were  dead,  that  I  were 
dead!" 

393 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

He  took  her  in  his  arms. 

"  My  love,  —  my  own,  —  I  cannot  hear  you  speak  thus  — 
take  courage !     I  have  long  forgiven  you !  " 

Her  head  rested  on  his  shoulders.  For  a  moment  they  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  the  world  and  all  around  them. 

Suddenly  the  rush  of  mailed  feet  resounded  in  the  ante-room. 
The  door  of  the  chamber  was  unceremoniously  thrust  open 
and  Haco, captain  of  the  imperial  guard, entered  the  apartment, 
recoiling  almost  as  quickly  as  he  had  done  so,  at  the  unexpected 
sight  which  met  his  gaze. 

"  How  dare  you  ?  "  Otto  accosted  him  with  flaming  eyes, 
while  Stephania  had  retreated  into  the  shadows,  covering  her 
face,  which  was  pale  as  death,  with  her  hands. 

Eckhardt's  envoy  prostrated  himself  before  the  King. 

"  I  crave  the  King's  pardon  —  it  was  my  Lord  Eckhardt's 
command  to  carry  straight  and  unannounced  the  tidings  to 
the  King's  ear  —  your  hosts  have  stormed  Castel  San  Angelo! 
Your  enemy  is  no  more !  " 

"  Rise !  "  thundered  Otto,  while  Stephania  had  rushed  with 
a  pitiful  moan  of  anguish  from  her  retreat,  and  was  gazing  at 
the  messenger,  as  if  life  and  death  sat  on  his  lips.  "  What 
do  you  mean  ?  " 

But  ere  the  man  could  answer,  a  terrible  shriek  by  his  side 
caused  Otto  to  start.  Stephania  had  rushed  to  the  window. 
Following  the  direction  of  her  gaze,  his  heart  sank  within  him 
with  the  weight  of  his  own  despair. 

A  body  was  seen  swinging  from  the  ramparts,  —  it  needed 
neither  soothsayer  nor  prophet  to  explain  what  had  befallen. 

Eckhardt  had  kept  his  oath. 

"  When  the  imperial  Chamberlain  told  him  that  you  were 
here  with  the  King,"  Haco  addressed  the  woman,  who  stared 
with  wide-eyed  despair  from  one  to  the  other,  "  Crescentius 
charged  in  person  the  invading  hosts.  Struck  down  twice, 
he  staggered  again  to  his  feet,  fighting  like  a  madman  in  the 

394 


THE    STORM    OF    SAN    ANGELO 

face  of  certain  death  and  against  fearful  odds.  When  he  fell 
the  third  time,  Eckhardt  ordered  him  suspended  from  the 
battlements  —  to  save  him  the  trouble  of  rising  again !  "  the 
captain  concluded  in  grim  humour. 

"  What  of  my  pardon  for  the  Senator  ?  "  gasped  Otto. 

"  I  know  of  no  pardon,"  replied  Haco. 

"  The  pardon  of  which  Benilo  was  the  bearer,"  Otto  repeated. 

Haco  stared  at  the  King,  as  if  he  thought  him  demented. 

"  It  was  the  order  for  the  Senator's  execution,  which  the 
Chamberlain  placed  in  Eckhardt's  hand,"  he  replied,  "  to  take 
place  immediately  upon  his  capture." 

"Ah!  This  is  your  work  then!"  Stephania  broke  the 
terrible  silence,  which  hung  over  them  like  suspended  des 
tinies,  —  creeping  towards  Otto  and  pointing  to  the  ramparts 
of  Castel  San  Angelo,  on  which  the  imperial  standard  was  be 
ing  hoisted.  "This  you  have  done  to  me! — You  have 
lied  to  me,  detaining  me  here  when  I  should  have  been 
with  him,  —  whose  dying  hour  I  have  filled  with  a  despair 
that  all  eternity  cannot  alleviate,  —  let  me  go —  I  tell  you,  let 
me  go!  Fiend!  traitor,  —  let  me  go!" 

She  fought  him  in  wild  despair. 

Otto  had  barred  her  way.  Releasing  her,  he  looked  straight 
into  her  eyes. 

"  Your  own  heart  tells  you,  Stephania,  this  is  the  work  of 
a  traitor,  —  not  mine!  " 

She  gazed  at  him  one  moment.  She  knew  his  words  to  be 
true.  But  she  would  not  listen  to  the  voice  of  reason,  when 
her  conscience  doubly  smote  her. 

"Let  me  go!"  she  shrieked.     "Let  me  go!     My  place  is 
by   the   side   of   him  you  have   foully   slain,  —  murdered  — 
after  luring  me  away  from  him  in  his  dying  hour." 

"  You  know  not  what  you  say,  Stephania.  Your  grief  has 
maddened  you !  Is  not  the  word  of  the  King  assurance  enough, 
that  he  himself  is  the  victim  of  some  as  yet  unfathomable 

395 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

deceit  ?  By  the  memory  of  my  mother  I  swear  to  you  —  I 
never  wrote  that  order !  Remain  here  until  I  hear  from  Eck- 
hardt,  —  your  safety  —  " 

"  Who  tells  you  that  I  wish  to  be  saved  ?  "  she  cried  like  a 
lioness  at  bay.  "  Remain  here  with  you,  whose  hands  are 
stained  with  his  blood  ?  Not  another  moment !  You  have 
no  claim  on  Stephania!  A  crimson  gulf  has  swallowed  up 
the  past  and  his  shade  divides  us  in  death  as  it  has  divided 
us  in  life !  You  shall  never  boast  that  you  have  conquered  the 
wife  of  the  Senator  of  Rome !  " 

"  Stephania." 

He  raised  his  arms  entreatingly. 

She  sprang  at  him  to  gain  the  entrance  to  the  Venus  panel, 
which  he  covered  with  his  person.  For  a  moment  he  held  her 
at  bay,  then  she  pushed  him  aside,  rushed  past  him  and 
disappeared  in  the  dark  passage,  the  door  of  which  closed 
behind  her  with  a  sharp  clang.  She  vanished  in  the  subter 
ranean  gloom. 

Haco  had  silently  witnessed  the  scene. 

Otto  seemed  to  have  forgotten  his  presence,  when  turning 
he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the  trusty  Saxon. 

"  Did  you  say  —  execution  ?  "  he  addressed  the  man,  his 
brain  whirling. 

"  Signed  by  the  King !  "  came  the  laconic  reply. 

"  You  may  go !    Bid  Eckhardt  repair  hither  at  the  earliest !  " 

Haco  departed.  Broken  in  mind  and  spirit  Otto  remained 
alone.  Victory  had  crowned  his  cause,  —  but  Death  reigned 
in  his  heart. 


396 


CHAPTER  XVI 


THE  FORFEIT 


RESCENTIUS  was  dead.  Ste- 
phania's  fate  was  left  to  the 
surmise  of  the  victors.  Since 
she  had  parted  from  Otto  in  that 
eventful  night,  no  one  had  seen 
the  beautiful  wife  of  the  luckless 
Lord  of  Castel  San  Angelo. 
Eckhardt  was  gloomier  than 
ever.  The  storm  of  the  ancient 
mausoleum  had  been  accom 
plished  with  a  terrible  loss  to  the  victors.  The  Romans,  awed 
for  a  time  into  submission,  showed  ever  new  symptoms  of 
dissatisfaction,  and  it  was  evident  that  in  the  event  of  a  new 
outbreak,  the  small  band  constituting  the  emperor's  body 
guard  would  not  be  able  to  hold  out  against  the  enmity  of  the 
conquered.  The  monkish  processions  continued  day  and  night, 
and  as  the  Millennium  drew  nearer  and  nearer  the  frenzied 
fervour  of  the  masses  rose  to  fever  height.  Fear  and  appre 
hension  increased  with  the  impending  hour,  the  hour  that 
should  witness  the  End  of  Time  and  the  final  judgment  of  God. 
Since  the  storm  of  Castel  San  Angelo,  Otto  had  locked  him 
self  in  his  chamber  in  the  palace  on  the  Aventine.  No  one  save 
Benilo,  Eckhardt  and  Sylvester,  the  silver-haired  pontiff,  had 
access  to  his  person.  Benilo  had  so  far  succeeded  in  purging 
himself  from  the  stain  of  treason,  which  clung  to  him  since  the 
summary  execution  of  Crescentius,  that  he  had  been  entirely 
restored  into  Otto's  confidence  and  favour.  It  was  not  difficult 

397 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

for  one,  gifted  with  his  consummate  art  of  dissimulation,  to 
convince  Otto,  that  in  the  heat  of  combat,  the  passions  inflamed 
to  fever-heat,  his  general  had  mistaken  the  order;  and  Eck- 
hardt,  when  questioned  thereon,  exhibited  such  unequivocal 
disgust,  even  to  the  point  of  flatly  refusing  to  discuss  the  matter, 
that  Benilo  appeared  hi  a  manner  justified,  the  more  so,  as 
the  order  itself  could  not  be  produced  against  him,  Eckhardt 
having  cast  it  into  the  flames.  His  vengeance  had  not  however 
been  satisfied  with  the  death  of  Crescentius  alone,  for  on  the 
morning  after  the  capture  of  the  fortress,  eleven  bodies  were  to 
be  seen  swinging  from  the  gibbets  on  Monte  Malo,  the  carcasses 
of  those  who  in  a  fatal  hour  had  pledged  themselves  to  the 
Senator's  support. 

So  far  the  Chamberlain's  victory  seemed  complete. 

Crescentius  and  the  barons  inimical  to  his  schemes  were 
destroyed.  There  now  remained  but  Otto  and  Eckhardt,  and 
a  handful  of  Saxons;  for  the  main  body  of  the  army  had 
marched  Northward  with  Count  Ludeger  of  the  Palatinate,  who 
had  exhausted  every  effort  to  induce  Otto  to  follow  him.  Had 
Crescentius  beaten  off  Eckhardt's  assault,  Benilo  would  hi  that 
fatal  night  have  consigned  his  imperial  friend  to  the  dungeons 
of  Castel  San  Angelo.  For  this  he  had  assiduously  watched  in 
the  ante-chamber.  At  a  signal  a  chosen  body  of  men  stationed 
in  the  gardens  below  were  to  seize  the  German  King  and  hurry 
him  through  the  secret  passage  to  Hadrian's  tomb. 

There  now  remained  but  one  problem  to  deal  with.  With 
the  removal  of  the  last  impediment,  arrived  on  the  last  stepping 
stone  to  the  realization  of  his  ambition,  Benilo  could  offer 
Theodora  what  in  the  delirium  of  anticipated  possession  he 
had  promised,  with  no  intention  of  fulfilling.  He  had  not 
then  reckoned  with  the  woman's  terrible  temper,  he  had  not 
reckoned  with  the  blood  of  Marozia.  She  had  by  stages  roused 
her  discarded  lover's  jealousy  to  a  delirium,  which  had  vented 
itself  in  the  mad  wager,  which  he  must  win  —  or  perish. 

398 


THE    FORFEIT 

But  one  day  remained  until  the  full  of  the  moon,  but  one 
day  within  which  Theodora  might  make  good  her  boast. 
Benilo,  who  had  her  carefully  watched,  knew  that  Eckhardt  had 
not  revisited  the  groves,  he  had  even  reason  to  believe  that 
Theodora  had  abandoned  every  effort  to  that  end.  Was  she  at 
last  convinced  of  the  futility  of  her  endeavour  ?  Or  had  she 
some  other  scheme  in  mind,  which  she  kept  carefully  con 
cealed  ?  The  Chamberlain  felt  ill  at  ease. 

As  for  Eckhardt,  he  should  never  leave  the  groves  a  living 
man.  Victor  or  vanquished,  he  was  doomed.  Then  Otto  was 
at  his  mercy.  He  would  deal  with  the  youth  according  to 
the  dictates  of  the  hour. 

When  Benilo  had  on  that  morning  parted  from  Otto  in  the 
peristyle  of  the  "  Golden  House  "  on  the  Aventine,  he  knew 
that  sombre  exultation,  which  follows  upon  triumph  in  evil. 
Hesitancies  were  now  at  an  end.  No  longer  could  he  be  dis 
tracted  between  two  desires.  In  his  eye,  at  the  memory  of 
the  woman,  for  whom  he  had  damned  himself,  there  glowed 
the  fire  of  a  fiendish  joy.  Not  without  inner  detriment  had 
Benilo  accustomed  himself  for  years  to  wear  a  double  face. 
Even  had  his  purposes  been  pure,  the  habit  of  assiduous 
perfidy,  of  elaborate  falsehood,  could  not  leave  his  countenance 
untainted.  A  traitor  for  his  own  ends,  he  found  himself 
moving  in  no  unfamiliar  element,  and  all  his  energies  now 
centred  themselves  upon  the  achievement  of  his  crime,  to 
him  a  crime  no  longer  from  the  instant  that  he  had  irresistibly 
willed  it. 

On  fire  to  his  finger-tips,  he  could  yet  reason  with  the 
coldest  clarity  of  thought.  Having  betrayed  his  imperial 
friend  so  far,  he  must  needs  betray  him  to  the  extremity  of 
traitorhood.  He  must  lead  Eckhardt  on  to  the  fatal  brink, 
then  deliver  the  decisive  blow  which  should  destroy  both. 
But  a  blacker  thought  than  any  he  had  yet  nurtured  began 
to  stir  in  his  mind,  raising  its  head  like  a  viper.  Could  he 

399 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

but  discover  Stephania!  Then  indeed  his  triumph  would  be 
complete ! 

On  that  point  alone  Otto  had  maintained  a  silence  as  of  the 
grave  even  towards  the  Chamberlain,  to  whom  he  was  wont 
to  lay  bare  the  innermost  recesses  of  his  soul.  Never  in  his 
presence  had  he  even  breathed  Stephania's  name.  Yet  Benilo 
had  seen  the  wife  of  the  Senator  in  the  King's  chamber  in  the 
eventful  night  of  the  storm  of  Castel  San  Angelo,  and  his 
serpent-wisdom  was  not  to  be  decoyed  with  pretexts,  regarding 
the  true  cause  of  Otto's  illness  and  devouring  grief. 

But  lust-bitten  to  madness,  the  thoughts  uppermost  in 
Benilo' s  mind  reverted  ever  to  the  wager,  —  to  the  woman. 
Theodora  must  be  his,  at  any,  at  every  cost.  But  one  day 
now  remained  till  the  hour;  —  he  winced  at  the  thought. 
Vainly  he  reminded  himself  that  even  therein  lay  the  greater 
chance.  How  much  might  happen  in  the  brief  eternity  of  one 
day;  how  much,  if  the  opportunities  were  but  turned  to 
proper  account.  But  was  it  wise  to  wait  the  fatal  hour  ? 
He  had  not  had  speech  with  Theodora  since  she  had  laid  the 
whip-lash  on  his  cheek.  The  blow  still  smarted  and  the  memory 
of  the  deadly  insult  stung  him  to  immediate  action.  Once 
more  he  would  bend  his  steps  to  her  presence;  once  more  he 
would  try  what  persuasion  might  do ;  then,  should  fortune 
smile  upon  him,  should  the  woman  relent,  he  would  have 
removed  from  his  path  the  greater  peril,  and  be  prepared  to 
deal  with  every  emergency. 

How  he  lived  through  the  day  he  knew  not.  Hour  after 
hour  crawled  by,  an  eternity  of  harrowing  suspense.  And 
even  while  wishing  for  the  day's  end,  he  dreaded  the  coming 
of  the  night. 

While  Benilo  was  thus  weighing  the  chances  of  success, 
Theodora  sat  in  her  gilded  chamber  brooding  with  wildly 
beating  heart  over  what  the  future  held  in  its  tightly  closed 
hand.  The  hour  was  approaching,  when  she  must  win  the 

400 


THE    FORFEIT 

fatal  wager,  else  —  she  dared  not  think  out  the  thought. 
Would  the  memory  of  Eckhardt  sleep  in  the  cradle  of  a  darker 
memory,  which  she  herself  must  leave  behind  ?  As  hi  response 
to  her  unspoken  query  a  shout  of  laughter  rose  from  the  groves 
and  Theodora  listened  whitening  to  the  lips.  She  knew  the 
hated  sound  of  Roxane's  voice;  with  a  gesture  of  profound 
irritation  and  disgust,  she  rose  and  fled  to  the  safety  of  her 
remotest  chamber,  where  she  dropped  upon  an  ottoman  in 
utter  weariness.  Oh!  not  to  have  to  listen  to  these  sounds 
on  this  evening  of  all,  —  on  this  evening  on  which  hung  the 
fate  of  her  life!  Her  mind  was  made  up.  She  could  stand 
the  terrible  strain  no  longer.  One  by  one  she  had  seen  those 
vanish,  whom  in  a  moment  of  senseless  folly  she  had  called 
her  friends.  Only  one  would  not  vanish;  one  who  seemed  to 
emerge  hale  from  every  trap,  which  the  hunter  had  laid, — 
her  betrayer,  —  her  tormentor,  he  who  on  this  very  eve  would 
feast  his  eyes  on  her  vanquished  pride,  he,  who  hoped  to  fold 
her  this  very  night  in  his  odious  embrace.  The  very  thought 
was  worse  than  death.  To  what  a  life  had  his  villainy,  his 
treachery  consigned  her!  Days  of  anguish  and  fear,  nights 
of  dread  and  remorse!  Her  life  had  been  a  curse.  She  had 
brought  misfortune  and  disaster  upon  the  heads  of  all,  who 
had  loved  her;  the  accursed  wanton  blood  of  Marozia,  which 
coursed  through  her  veins,  had  tainted  her  even  before  her 
birth.  There  was  but  one  atonement — Death!  She  had 
abandoned  the  wager.  But  she  had  despatched  her  strange 
counsellor,  Hezilo,  to  seek  out  Eckhardt  and  to  conduct  him 
this  very  night  to  her  presence.  How  he  accomplished  it,  she 
cared  not,  little  guessing  the  bait  he  possessed  in  a  knowledge 
she  did  not  suspect.  She  would  confess  everything  to  him,  — 
her  life  would  pay  the  forfeit;  —  she  would  be  at  rest,  where 
she  might  nevermore  behold  the  devilish  face  of  her  tormentor. 
With  a  fixed,  almost  vacant  stare,  her  eyes  were  riveted  on 
the  door,  as  if  every  moment  she  expected  to  see  the  one  man 

401 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

enter,  whom  she  most  feared  in  this  hour  and  for  whom  she 
most  longed. 

"  This  then  is  the  end !  This  the  end !  "  she  sobbed  con 
vulsively,  setting  her  teeth  deep  into  the  cushions  in  which 
she  hid  her  face,  while  a  torrent  of  scalding  tears,  the 
first  she  had  shed  hi  years,  rushed  from  her  half-closed 
eyelids. 

From  the  path  she  had  chosen,  there  led  no  way  back  into 
the  world. 

She  had  played  the  great  game  of  life  and  she  had  lost. 

She  might  have  worn  its  choicest  crown  in  the  love  of  the 
man  whom  she  had  deceived,  discarded,  betrayed,  and  now  it 
was  too  late. 

But  if  Eckhardt  should  not  come  ? 

If  the  harper  should  not  succeed  ? 

Again  she  relapsed  into  her  reverie.  She  almost  wished  his 
mission  would  fail.  She  almost  wished  that  Eckhardt  would 
refuse  to  again  accompany  him  to  the  groves.  Again  she 
relived  the  scene  of  that  night,  when  he  had  laid  bare  her  arm 
in  the  search  for  the  fatal  birth-mark.  The  terrible  expression 
which  had  passed  into  his  eyes  had  haunted  her  night  and  day. 
A  deadly  fear  of  him  seized  her. 

She  dared  not  remain.  She  dared  not  face  him  again.  The 
very  ground  she  trod  seemed  to  scorch  her  feet.  She  must 
away. 

The  morrow  should  find  her  far  from  Rome. 

The  thought  seemed  to  imbue  her  with  new  energy  and 
strength.  How  she  wished  this  night  were  ended!  Again  the 
shouts  and  laughter  from  the  gardens  beneath  her  window 
broke  on  her  ear.  She  closed  the  blinds  to  exclude  the  sounds. 
But  they  would  not  be  excluded.  Ever  and  ever  they  continued 
to  mock  her.  The  air  was  hot  and  sultry  even  to  suffocation : 
still  she  must  prepare  the  most  necessary  things  for  her  journey, 
all  the  precious  gems  and  stones  which  would  be  considered  a 

402 


THE   FORFEIT 

welcome  offering  at  any  cloister.  These  she  concealed  in  a 
mantle  in  which  she  would  escape  unheeded  and  unnoticed 
from  these  halls,  over  which  she  had  lorded  with  her  dire,  evil 
beauty. 

She  had  scarcely  completed  her  preparations  when  the  sound 
of  footsteps  behind  the  curtain  caused  her  to  start  with  a  low 
outcry  of  fear.  Everything  was  an  object  of  terror  to  her  now 
and  she  had  barely  regained  her  self-possession  when  the 
parting  draperies  revealed  the  hated  presence  of  Benilo. 

For  a  moment  they  faced  each  other  hi  silence. 

With  a  withering  smile  on  his  thin,  compressed  lips,  the 
Chamberlain  bowed. 

"  I  was  informed  you  were  awaiting  some  one,"  he  said  with 
ill-concealed  mockery  in  his  tones.  "  I  am  here  to  witness 
your  conquest,  to  pay  my  forfeit,  —  or  to  claim  it." 

Theodora  with  difficulty  retained  her  composure;  yet  she 
endeavoured  to  appear  unconcerned  and  to  conceal  her  pur 
pose.  Her  eyelids  narrowed  as  she  regarded  the  man  who 
had  destroyed  her  life.  Then  she  replied: 

"  There  is  no  wager." 

Benilo  started. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  There  was  once  a  man  who  betrayed  his  master  for  thirty 
pieces  of  silver.  But  when  his  master  was  taken,  he  cast  the 
money  on  the  floor  of  the  temple,  went  forth  and  hanged 
himself." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

A  look  of  unutterable  loathing  passed  into  her  eyes. 

"  Enough  that  I  might  have  reconquered  the  man,  —  the 
love  I  once  despised,  had  I  wished  to  enter  again  into  his  life, 
the  vile  thing  I  am  —  " 

Benilo  leered  upon  her  with  an  evil  smile. 

"  How  like  Ginevra  of  old,"  he  sneered.  "  Scruples  of 
conscience,  that  make  the  devils  laugh." 

403 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

She  did  not  heed  him.  One  thought  alone  held  uppermost 
sway  in  her  mind. 

"  To-morrow,"  she  said,  "  I  leave  Rome  for  ever." 

With  a  stifled  curse  the  Chamberlain  started  up. 

"With  him?    Never!" 

"  I  did  not  say  with  him." 

"  No !  "  he  retorted  venomously.  "  But  for  once  the  truth 
had  trapped  the  falsehood  on  your  tongue." 

She  ignored  his  brutal  speech.  He  watched  her  narrowly. 
As  she  made  no  reply  he  continued: 

"  Deem  you  that  I  would  let  you  go  back  to  him,  even  if 
he  did  not  spurn  you,  the  thing  you  are  ?  You  think  to  deceive 
me  by  telling  me  that  the  hot  blood  of  Marozia  has  been 
chilled  to  that  of  a  nun  ?  A  lie !  A  thousand  lies !  Your  virtue ! 
This  for  the  virtue  of  such  as  you,"  and  he  snapped  his  fingers 
into  her  white  face.  "  The  virtue  of  a  serpent,  —  of  a  wan 
ton—" 

There  was  a  dangerous  glitter  hi  her  eyes. 

Her  voice  sounded  hardly  above  a  whisper  as  she  turned  upon 
him. 

"Monster,  you  —  who  have  wrecked  my  life,  destroyed 
its  holiest  ties  and  glory  in  the  deed!  Monster,  who  made 
my  days  a  torture  and  my  nights  a  curse !  I  could  slay  you  with 
my  own  hands !  " 

He  laughed;  a  harsh  grating  laugh. 

"  What  a  charming  Mary  of  Magdala !  " 

Her  voice  was  cold  as  steel. 

"  Benilo,  —  I  warn  you  —  stop !  " 

But  his  rage,  at  finding  himself  baffled  at  the  last  moment, 
caused  the  Chamberlain  to  overstep  the  last  limits  of  prudence 
and  reserve.  With  the  stealthy  step  of  the  tiger  he  drew  nearer. 

"  You  tell  me  in  that  lying,  fawning  voice  of  yours  that 
to-morrow  you  will  leave  Rome,  —  to  go  to  him  ?  To  give  him 
the  love  which  is  mine,  —  mine  —  by  the  redeemed  gauge  of 

404 


THE    FORFEIT 

the  sepulchre  ?  And  I  tell  you,  you  shall  not!  Mine  you 
are,  —  and  mine  you  shall  remain!  Though,"  he  concluded, 
breathing  hard,  "  you  shall  be  meek  enough,  when,  learning 
from  my  own  lips  what  manner  of  saint  you  are,  he  has  cast 
you  forth  in  the  street,  among  your  kind !  And  I  swear  by  the 
host,  I  will  go  to  him  and  tell  him! " 

She  advanced  a  step  towards  him,  her  eyes  glowing  with  a 
feverish  lustra.  Her  white  hands  were  upon  her  bosom  as  if 
to  calm  its  tempestuous  heaving. 

He  heeded  it  not,  feasting  his  eyes  on  her  great  beauty  with 
the  inflamed  lust  of  the  libertine. 

"  I  will  save  you  the  trouble,"  she  said  calmly,  "  I  will 
tell  him  myself." 

"  And  what  will  you  tell  him  ?  That  he  has  espoused  one 
of  the  harlot  brood  of  Marozia,  one,  who  has  sold  his  honour  — 
defiled  his  bed  —  " 

"  And  slain  the  fiend  who  betrayed  her! " 

A  wild  shriek,  a  tussle,  —  a  choked  outcry,  —  she  struck  — 
once,  twice,  thrice:  —  for  a  moment  his  hands  wildly  beat  the 
air,  then  he  reeled  backward,  lurched  and  fell,  his  head  striking 
the  hard  marble  floor. 

The  bloody  weapon  fell  from  Theodora's  trembling  hands. 

"  Avenged !  "  she  gasped,  staring  with  terrible  fascination  at 
the  spot  where  he  lay. 

Benilo  had  raised  himself  upon  his  arm,  fixing  his  wild  blood 
shot  eyes  on  the  woman.  He  attempted  to  rise,  —  another 
moment,  and  the  death  rattle  was  hi  his  throat.  He  fell  back 
and  expired. 

There  was  no  pity  in  Theodora's  eyes,  only  a  great,  nameless 
fear  as  she  looked  down  upon  him  where  he  lay.  It  had  grown 
dark  in  the  chamber.  The  blue  moon-mist  poured  hi  through 
the  narrow  casement,  and  with  it  came  the  chimes  from  remote 
cloisters,  floating  as  it  were  on  the  silence  of  night,  cleaving 
the  darkness,  as  it  is  cloven  by  a  falling  star.  Theodora's 

405 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

heart  was  beating,  as  if  it  must  break.  Lighting  a  candle  she 
softly  opened  the  door  and  made  her  way  through  a  labyrinth  of 
passages  and  corridors  in  which  her  steps  re-echoed  from  the 
high  vaulted  ceilings.  Farther  and  farther  she  wandered  away 
from  the  inhabited  part  of  the  building,  when  her  ear  suddenly 
caught  a  metallic  sound,  sharp,  like  the  striking  of  a  gong. 

For  a  moment  she  remained  rooted  to  the  spot,  staring 
straight  before  her  as  one  dazed.  Then  she  retraced  her  steps 
towards  the  Pavilion,  whence  came  singing  voices  and  sounds 
of  high  revels. 

Sometime  after  she  had  left  her  chamber,  two  Africans 
entered  it,  picked  up  the  lifeless  body  of  the  Chamberlain,  and, 
after  carrying  it  to  a  remote  part  of  the  building,  flung  it  into 
the  river. 

The  yellow  Tiber  hissed  hi  white  foam  over  the  spot,  where 
Benilo  sank.  The  mad  current  dragged  his  body  down  to  the 
slime  of  the  river-bed,  picked  it  up  again  in  its  swirl,  tossed  it 
in  mocking  sport  from  one  foam-crested  wave  to  another,  and 
finally  flung  it,  to  rot,  on  some  lonely  bank,  where  the  gulls 
screamed  above  it  and  the  gray  foxes  of  the  Maremmas  gnawed 
and  snapped  and  snarled  over  the  bleached  bones  hi  the  moon 
light. 


406 


CHAPTER  XVII 


NEMESIS 

HILE  these  events,  so  closely 
touching  his  own  life,  trans 
pired  in  the  Groves  of  Theodora, 
while  a  triple  traitor  met  his 
long-deferred  doom,  and  a 
trembling  woman  cowered  fear- 
struck  and  tortured  by  terrible 
forebodings  hi  her  chambers, 
Eckhardt  sat  in  the  shaded 
loggia  of  his  palace,  brooding 
over  the  great  mystery  of  his  life  and  its  impending  solution; 
meditating  upon  his  course  in  the  final  act  of  the  weird  drama. 
But  one  resolution  stood  out  clearly  defined  hi  all  the  chaos 
of  his  thoughts.  He  would  not  leave  Rome  ere  he  had  broken 
down  behind  him  every  bridge  leading  back  into  the  past. 

It  had  been  a  day  such  as  the  oldest  inhabitants  of  Rome 
remembered  none  at  this  late  season.  The  very  heavens 
seemed  to  smoke  with  heat.  The  grass  in  the  gardens  was  dry 
and  brittle,  as  If  it  had  been  scorched  by  passing  flames.  A 
singularly  profound  stillness  reigned  everywhere,  there  being 
not  the  slightest  breeze  to  stir  the  faintest  rustle  among  the 
dry  foliage. 

How  long  Eckhardt  had  thus  been  lost  in  vague  specula 
tions  on  the  impending  crisis  of  his  life  he  scarcely  knew, 
when  the  sound  of  footsteps  approaching  over  the  gravel  path 
caused  him  to  shake  off  the  spell  which  was  heavy  upon  him, 
and  to  peer  through  the  interstices  of  the  vines  in  quest  of  the 

407 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

new-comer  who  wore  the  garb  of  a  monk,  the  cowl  drawn  over 
his  face  either  for  protection  against  the  heat,  or  to  evade 
recognition.  Yet  no  sooner  had  he  set  foot  hi  the  vineshaded 
loggia,  than  Eckhardt  arose  from  his  seat,  eager,  breathless. 

"  At  last!  "  he  gasped,  extending  his  hand,  which  the  other 
grasped  hi  silence.  "  At  last!  " 

"At  last!"  said  Hezilo. 

The  word  seemed  fraught  with  destinies. 

"  Is  the  time  at  hand  ?  "  queried  Eckhardt. 

"To-night!" 

A  groan  broke  from  the  Margrave's  lips. 

"To-night!" 

Then  he  beckoned  his  visitor  to  a  seat. 

"  I  have  come  to  fulfil  my  promise,"  spoke  Hezilo. 

"Tell  me  all!" 

Hezilo  nodded;  yet  he  seemed  at  a  loss  how  to  commence. 
After  a  pause  he  began  his  tale  hi  a  voice  strangely  void  of 
inflection,  like  that  of  an  automaton  gifted  with  speech. 

Dwelling  briefly  on  the  events  of  his  own  life  from  the  time 
of  his  arrival  in  Rome  with  the  motherless  girl  Angiola,  on 
her  chance  meeting  with  Benilo  and  the  latter's  pretence  of 
interest  hi  his  child,  Hezilo  touched  upon  the  Chamberlain's 
clandestine  visits  at  the  convent,  where  he  had  placed  her, 
upon  the  girl's  strange  fascination  for  the  courtier,  the  latter's 
promises  and  advances,  culminating  hi  Angiola's  abduction. 
After  having  betrayed  his  credulous  victim,  the  Chamberlain 
had  revealed  himself  the  fiend  he  was  by  causing  her  to  be 
concealed  in  an  old  ruin,  and,  to  secure  immunity  for  himself, 
he  had  her  deprived  of  the  sight  of  her  eyes.  In  a  voice  resonant 
with  the  echoes  of  despair,  Hezilo  described  the  long  and 
fruitless  hunt  for  his  lost  child,  of  whose  whereabouts  the  dis 
consolate  nuns  at  the  convent  disclaimed  all  knowledge,  till 
chance  had  guided  him  to  the  place  of  Angiola's  concealment, 
in  the  person  of  an  old  crone,  whom  he  had  surprised  among 

408 


NEMESIS 

the  ruins  of  the  ill-famed  temple  of  Isis,  whither  she  carried 
food  to  the  blind  girl  at  certain  hours  of  the  day.  At  the  point  of 
his  dagger  he  had  forced  a  confession  and  by  a  sufficiently 
large  bribe  purchased  her  silence  regarding  his  discovery. 
The  rest  was  known  to  Eckhardt,  who  had  witnessed  Angiola's 
rescue  from  her  dismal  prison,  as  he  had  been  present  in  her 
dying  hour. 

There  was  a  long  silence  between  them.  Then  Hezilo 
continued  his  account.  Step  for  step  he  had  fastened  himself 
to  the  heels  of  the  betrayer  of  his  child,  whose  name  the  crone 
had  revealed  to  him.  Again  and  again  he  might  have  destroyed 
the  libertine,  had  he  not  reserved  him  for  a  more  summary 
and  terrible  execution.  He  had  discovered  Benilo's  illicit 
amour  with  one  Theodora,  a  woman  of  great  beauty  but  of 
mysterious  origin,  who  had  established  her  wanton  court  at 
Rome.  As  a  wandering  minstrel  Hezilo  had  found  there  a 
ready  welcome,  and  had  in  time  gained  her  confidence  and  ear. 

Eckhardt's  senses  began  to  reel  as  he  listened  to  the  revela 
tions  now  poured  into  his  ears.  Much,  which  the  confession 
of  the  dying  wretch  hi  the  rock-caves  under  the  Gemonian 
stairs  had  left  obscure,  was  now  illumined,  as  a  dark  landscape 
by  lightnings  fom  a  distant  cloud -bank.  Ginevra's  smoulder 
ing  discontent  with  Eckhardt's  seeming  lack  of  ambition,  her 
inordinate  desire  for  power,  —  the  Chamberlain's  covert 
advances  and  veiled  promises,  aided  by  his  chance  discovery 
of  her  descent  from  Marozia;  their  conspiracy,  culminating 
in  the  woman's  simulated  illness  and  death;  the  substitution 
of  a  strange  body  hi  the  coffin,  which  had  been  sealed  under 
pretence  of  premature  decay,  —  Ginevra's  flight  to  a  convent, 
where  she  remained  concealed  till  after  Eckhardt's  departure 
from  Rome:  —  from  stage  to  stage  Hezilo  proceeded  hi  his 
strange  unimpassioned  tale,  a  tale  which  caused  his  listener's 
brain  to  spin  and  his  senses  to  reel. 

The  monk  conducting  the  last  rites,  having  chanced  upon  the 

409 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

fraud,  had  been  promised  nothing  less  than  the  Triple  Tiara 
of  St.  Peter  as  reward  for  his  silence  and  complicity,  as  soon  as 
Ginevra  should  have  come  into  her  own.  Continuing,  Hezilo 
touched  upon  Ginevra's  reappearance  in  Rome  under  the  name 
of  Theodora;  on  the  Chamberlain's  betrayal  of  the  woman. 
He  dwelt  on  the  events  leading  up  to  the  wager  and  the  forfeit, 
the  woman's  share  in  luring  Eckhardt  from  the  Basilica,  and 
Benilo's  attempt  to  poison  him  at  the  fateful  meeting  in  the 
Grotto.  He  concluded  by  pointing  out  the  Chamberlain's  utter 
desperation  and  the  woman's  mortal  fear,  —  and  Eckhardt 
listened  as  one  dazed. 

Then  Hezilo  briefly  outlined  his  plans  for  the  night. 

Eckhardt's  destruction  had  been  decreed  by  the  Chamber 
lain  and  nothing  short  of  a  miracle  could  save  him.  The 
utmost  caution  and  secrecy  were  required.  Benilo,  whose 
attention  would  be  divided  between  Theodora  and  Eckhardt, 
was  to  be  dealt  with  by  himself.  The  blood  of  his  child  cried 
for  vengeance.  Thus  Eckhardt  would  be  free  to  settle  last 
accounts  with  the  woman. 

Burying  his  head  in  his  hands  the  strong  man  wept  like  a 
disconsolate  child,  his  whole  frame  shaken  by  convulsive  sobs, 
and  it  was  some  time,  ere  he  regained  sufficient  composure  to 
face  Hezilo. 

"  It  will  require  all  your  courage,"  said  the  harper,  rising  to 
depart.  "  Steel  your  heart  against  hope  or  mercy!  I  will 
await  you  at  sunset  at  the  Church  of  the  Hermits." 

And  without  waiting  the  Margrave's  reply,  Hezilo  was 
gone. 

Eckhardt  felt  like  one  waking  from  a  terrible  dream,  the 
oppression  of  which  remains  after  its  phantoms  have  vanished. 
The  suspense  of  waiting  till  dusk  seemed  almost  unendurable. 
Now  that  the  hour  seemed  so  nigh,  the  dread  hour  of  final 
reckoning,  there  was  a  tightening  agony  at  Eckhardt's  heart, 
an  agony  that  made  him  long  to  cry  out,  to  weep,  to  fling 

410 


NEMESIS 

himself  on  his  knees  and  pray,  pray  for  deliverance,  for  oblivion, 
for  absolute  annihilation.  Walking  up  and  down  the  vine- 
shaded  loggia,  he  paused  now  and  then  to  steal  a  look  at  the 
flaming  disk  of  the  sun,  that  seemed  to  stand  still  hi  the  heavens, 
while  at  other  times  he  stared  absently  into  the  gnarled  stems, 
in  whose  hollow  shelter  the  birds  slept  and  the  butterflies 
drowsed. 

Even  as  the  parted  spirit  of  the  dead  might  ruthfully  hover 
over  the  grave  of  its  perished  mortal  clay,  so  Eckhardt  reviewed 
his  own  forlorn  estate,  torturing  his  brain  with  all  manner  of 
vain  solutions. 

This  night,  then,  —  the  night  which  quenched  the  light  of 
this  agonizing  day,  must  for  ever  quench  his  doubts  and  fears. 
He  drew  a  long  breath.  A  great  weariness  weighed  down  his 
spirit.  An  irresistible  desire  for  rest  came  over  him.  The  late 
rebellion,  brief  but  fierce,  the  constant  watch  at  the  palace  on 
the  Aventine,  the  alarming  state  of  the  young  King,  who  was 
dying  of  a  broken  heart,  the  futility  of  all  counsel  to  prevail 
upon  him  to  leave  this  accursed  city,  the  lack  of  a  friend,  to 
whom  he  might  confide  his  own  misgivings  without  fear  of 
betrayal,  —  all  these  had  broken  down  his  physical  strength, 
which  no  amount  of  bodily  exertion  would  have  been  able  to 
accomplish. 

After  a  time  he  resumed  his  seat,  burying  his  head  in  his 
hands. 

The  air  of  the  late  summer  day  was  heavy  and  fragrant 
with  the  peculiar  odour  of  decaying  leaves,  and  the  splashing 
of  the  fountain,  which  sent  its  crystal  stream  down  towards 
Santa  Maria  del  Monte,  seemed  like  a  lullaby  to  Eckhardt's 
overwrought  senses.  Night  after  night  he  had  not  slept  at  all; 
he  had  not  dared  to  abandon  the  watch  on  Aventine  for  even  a 
moment.  Now  nature  asserted  her  rights. 

Lower  and  lower  drooped  his  aching  lids  and  slowly  he  was 
beginning  to  slip  away  into  blissful  unconsciousness.  How 

411 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

long  he  had  remained  in  this  state,  he  scarcely  knew,  when  he 
was  startled,  as  by  some  unknown  presence. 

Rousing  himself  with  an  effort  and  looking  up,  he  was  filled 
with  a  strange  awe  at  the  phenomenon  which  met  his  gaze. 
Right  across  the  horizon  that  glistened  with  pale  green  hues 
like  newly  frozen  water,  there  reposed  a  cloud-bank,  risen 
from  the  Tyrrhene  Sea,  black  as  the  blackest  midnight,  heavy 
and  motionless  like  an  enormous  shadow  fringed  with  tremu 
lous  lines  of  gold. 

This  cloud-bank  seemed  absolutely  stirless,  as  if  it  had 
been  thrown,  a  ponderous  weight,  into  the  azure  vault  of 
heaven.  Ever  and  anon  silvery  veins  of  lightning  shot  luridly 
through  its  surface,  while  poised,  as  it  were  immediately  above 
it,  was  the  sun,  looking  like  a  great  scarlet  seal,  a  ball  of 
crimson  fire,  destitute  of  rays. 

For  a  time  Eckhardt  stood  lost  hi  the  contemplation  of  this 
fantastic  sky-phenomenon.  As  he  did  so,  the  sun  plunged 
into  the  engulfing  darkness.  Lowering  purple  shadows  crept 
across  the  heavens,  but  the  huge  cloud,  palpitating  with 
lightnings,  moved  not,  stirred  not,  nor  changed  its  shape  by 
so  much  as  a  hair's  breadth. 

It  appeared  like  a  vast  pall,  spread  out  hi  readiness  for  the 
state  burial  of  the  world,  the  solemn  and  terrible  moment: 
The  End  of  Time. 

Fascinated  by  an  aspect,  which  hi  so  weird  a  manner  re 
flected  his  own  feelings,  Eckhardt  looked  upon  the  threatening 
cloud-bank  as  an  evil  omen.  A  strange  sensation  seized  him, 
as  with  a  hesitating  fear  not  unmingled  with  wonder,  he  watched 
the  lightnings  come  and  go. 

A  shudder  ran  through  his  frame  as  he  paced  up  and  down 
the  white-pillared  Loggia,  garlanded  with  climbing  vines, 
roses  and  passion  flowers,  dying  or  decayed. 

"  Would  the  night  were  passed,"  he  muttered  to  himself, 
and  the  man  who  had  stormed  the  impregnable  stronghold 

412 


NEMESIS 

of  Crescentius  quailed  before  the  impending  issue  as  a  child 
trembles  in  the  dark. 

At  the  hour  appointed  he  traversed  the  solitary  region  of 
the  Trastevere.  The  vast  silence,  the  vast  night,  were  full  of 
solemn  weirdness.  The  moon,  at  her  full,  soared  higher  and 
higher  in  the  balconies  of  the  East,  firing  the  lofty  solitudes  of 
the  heavens  with  her  silver-beams.  But  immobile  in  the 
purple  cavity  of  the  western  horizon  there  lay  that  ominous 
cloud,  nerved  as  it  were  with  living  lightnings,  which  leaped 
incessantly  from  its  centre,  like  a  thousand  swords,  drawn  from 
a  thousand  scabbards. 

The  deep  booming  noise  of  a  bell  now  smote  heavily  on  the 
silence.  Oppressed  by  the  weight  of  unutterable  forebodings, 
Eckhardt  welcomed  the  sound  with  a  vague  rense  of  relief. 
At  the  Church  of  the  Hermits  he  was  joined  by  the  harper 
and  together  they  rapidly  traversed  the  region  leading  to  the 
Groves.  In  the  supervening  stillness  their  ears  caught  the  sound 
of  harptones,  floating  through  the  silent  autumnal  night. 

The  higher  rising  moon  outlined  with  huge  angles  of  light 
and  shadow  the  marble  palaces,  which  stood  out  in  strong 
relief  against  a  transparent  background  and  the  Tiber,  wherein 
her  reflections  were  lengthened  into  a  glittering  column, 
was  frosted  with  silvery  ripples. 

At  last  they  reached  the  entrance  of  the  groves. 

"  Be  calm!  "  said  Eckhardt's  guide.  "  Let  nothing  that  you 
may  see  or  hear  draw  you  from  the  path  of  caution.  Think 
that,  whatever  you  may  suffer,  there  are  others  who  may 
suffer  more!  Silence!  No  questions  now!  Remember  — 
here  are  only  foes !  " 

The  harper  spoke  with  a  certain  harsh  impatience,  as  if  he 
were  himself  suffering  under  a  great  nervous  strain,  and  Eck 
hardt,  observing  this,  made  no  effort  to  engage  him  hi  con 
versation,  aside  from  promising  to  be  guided  by  his  counsel. 
He  felt  ill  at  ease,  however,  as  one  entering  a  labyrinth  from 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

whose  intricate  maze  he  relies  only  on  the  firm  guidance  of 
a  friend  to  release  him. 

They  now  entered  the  vast  garden,  fraught  with  so  many 
fatal  memories.  At  the  end  of  the  avenue  there  appeared  the 
well-remembered  pavilion,  and,  avoiding  the  main  entrance, 
the  harper  guided  Eckhardt  through  a  narrow  corridor  into 
the  great  hall. 

A  faint  mist  seemed  to  cloud  the  circle  of  seats  and  the 
high-pitched  voices  of  the  revellers  seemed  lost  in  infinite 
distance.  In  no  mood  to  note  particulars,  Eckhardt's  gaze 
penetrated  the  dizzy  glare,  hi  which  ever  new  zones  of  light 
seemed  to  uprear  themselves,  leaping  from  wall  to  wall  like 
sparkling  cascades.  As  in  the  throes  of  a  terrible  nightmare 
he  stood  riveted  to  the  spot,  for  at  that  very  moment  his  eyes 
encountered  a  picture  which  froze  the  very  life-blood  in  his 
veins. 

In  the  background,  revealed  by  the  parting  draperies  there 
stood,  leaning  against  one  of  the  rose-marble  columns,  the 
image  of  Ginevra.  Her  robe  of  crimson  fell  in  two  superb  folds 
from  the  peaks  of  her  bosom  to  her  feet.  The  marble  pallor 
of  her  face  formed  a  striking  contrast  to  the  consuming  fire 
of  her  eyes,  which  seemed  to  rove  anxiously,  restlessly  over 
the  diminished  circle  of  her  guests.  The  most  execrable  villain 
of  them  all,  —  Benilo,  —  had  at  her  hands  met  his  long- 
deferred  doom.  Those  on  whom  she  had  chiefly  relied  for  the 
realization  of  her  strange  ambition  now  swung  from  the  gibbets 
on  Monte  Malo, —  their  executioner  Eckhardt.  Strange 
irony  of  fate!  From  those  remaining,  who  polluted  the  hall 
with  their  noisome  presence,  she  had  nothing  to  hope,  nothing 
to  fear. 

And  this  then  was  the  end! 

It  required  Hezilo's  almost  superhuman  efforts  to  restrain 
Eckhardt  from  committing  a  deed  disastrous  hi  its  remotest 
consequences  to  himself  and  their  common  purpose.  For  hi 

414 


NEMESIS 

the  contemplation  of  the  woman  who  had  wrecked  his  life, 
a  tide  of  such  measureless  despair  swept  through  Eckhardt's 
heart,  that  every  thought,  every  desire  was  drowned  in  the 
mad  longing  to  visit  instant  retribution  on  the  woman's  guilty 
head  and  also  to  close  his  own  account  with  life.  But  the  mood 
did  not  endure.  A  strange  delirium  seized  him;  the  woman's 
siren-beauty  entranced  and  intoxicated  him  like  the  subtle 
perfume  of  some  rare  exotic;  mingled  love  and  hate  surged 
up  in  his  heart;  he  dared  not  trust  himself,  for  even  though 
he  resented,  he  could  not  resist  the  fatal  spell  of  former  days. 
The  absence  of  Benilo,  of  whose  doom  he  was  ignorant,  in 
spired  the  harper  with  dire  misgivings.  After  peering  with 
ill-concealed  apprehension  through  the  shadowy  vistas  of 
remote  galleries,  he  at  last  whispered  to  Eckhardt,  to  follow 
him,  and  they  were  entering  a  dimly  lighted  corridor,  leading 
into  the  fateful  Grotto,  which  Eckhardt  had  visited  on  that 
well-remembered  night,  when  a  terrific  event  arrested  their 
steps,  and  caused  them  to  remain  rooted  to  the  spot. 

A  blinding,  circular  sweep  of  lightning  blazed  through  the 
windows  of  the  pavilion,  illumining  it  from  end  to  end  with  a 
brilliant  blue  glare,  accompanied  by  a  deafening  crash  and 
terrific  peal  of  thunder  which  shook  the  very  earth  beneath. 
A  flash  of  time,  —  an  instant  of  black,  horrid  eclipse,  —  then, 
with  an  appalling  roar,  as  of  the  splitting  of  huge  rocks,  the 
murky  gloom  was  rent,  devoured  and  swept  away  by  the 
sudden  bursting  forth  of  fire.  From  twenty  different  parts  of 
the  great  hall  it  seemed  at  once  to  spring  aloft  in  spiral  coils. 
With  a  wild  cry  of  terror  those  of  the  revellers  who  had  not 
outright  been  struck  dead  by  the  fiery  bolt,  rushed  towards  the 
doors,  clambering  in  frenzied  fear  over  the  dead,  trampling 
on  the  scorched  disfigured  faces  of  the  dancing  girls,  on  whose 
graceful  pantomime  they  had  feasted  their  eyes  so  short  a  time 
ago. 

There  was  no  safety  in  the  pavilion,  which  a  moment  had 

415 


THE    SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

transformed  into  a  seething  furnace.  Volumes  of  smoke 
rolled  up  in  thick,  suffocating  clouds,  and  the  crimson  glare 
of  the  flames  illumined  the  dark  night-sky  far  over  the  Aventine. 

Half  mad  with  fear  from  the  shrieks  and  groans  of  the 
dying,  which  resounded  everywhere  about  her,  Theodora 
stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  still  clinging  to  the  great  column. 
Over  her  face  swept  a  strange  expression  of  loathing  and 
exultation.  Her  eyes  wandered  to  the  red-tongued  flames, 
that  leaped  in  eddying  rings  round  the  great  marble  pillars, 
creeping  every  second  nearer  to  the  place  where  she  stood, 
and  in  that  one  glance  she  seemed  to  recognize  the  entire 
hopelessness  of  rescue  and  the  certainty  of  death. 

For  a  moment  the  thought  seemed  terrifying  beyond 
expression.  None  had  thought  of  her,  —  all  had  sought 
their  own  safety !  She  laughed  a  laugh  of  uttermost,  bitter 
scorn. 

At  last  she  seemed  to  regain  her  presence  of  mind.  Turn 
ing,  she  started  to  the  back  of  the  great  pavilion,  with  the 
manifest  object  of  reaching  some  private  way  of  egress,  known 
but  to  herself.  But  her  intention  was  foiled.  No  sooner  had 
she  gone  back  than  she  returned  —  this  exit  too  was  a  roaring 
furnace.  In  terrible  reverberations  the  thunder  bellowed 
through  the  heavens,  which  seemed  one  vast  ocean  of  flame; 
the  elements  seemed  to  join  hands  in  the  effort  at  her  de 
struction: —  So  be  it!  It  would  extinguish  a  life  of  dishonour, 
disgrace  and  despair. 

A  haughty  acceptance  of  her  fate  manifested  itself  in  her 
stonily  determined  face.  It  would  be  atonement  —  though 
the  end  was  terrible! 

Suddenly  she  heard  a  rush  close  by  her  side.  Looking  up, 
she  beheld  the  one  she  dreaded  most  on  earth  to  meet,  saw 
Eckhardt  rushing  blindly  towards  her  through  smoke  and 
flames,  crying  frantically: 

"  Save  her!     Save  her!" 

416 


NEMESIS 

Her  wistful  gaze,  like  that  of  a  fascinated  bird,  was  fixed  on 
the  Margrave's  towering  stature. 

She  tarried  but  a  moment. 

At  the  terrible  crisis,  on  one  side  a  roaring  furnace,  — 
on  the  other  the  man  whom  of  all  mortals  she  had  wronged 
past  forgiveness,  her  courage  failed  her.  Remembering  a 
secret  door,  leading  to  a  tower,  connected  with  a  remote  wing 
of  the  pavilion,  where  she  might  yet  find  safety,  she  dashed 
swift  as  thought  through  the  panel,  which  receded  at  her  touch, 
and  vanished  in  the  dark  corridor  beyond.  Without  heeding 
the  dangers  which  might  beset  his  path,  Eckhardt  flew  after  her 
through  the  gloom,  till  he  found  himself  before  a  spiral  stair 
way,  at  the  terminus  of  the  passage.  A  faint  glimmer  of  light 
from  above  penetrated  the  gloom,  and  following  it,  he  was 
startled  by  a  faint  outcry  of  terror,  as  on  the  last  landing,  to 
which  he  madly  leaped,  he  found  himself  once  more  face  to 
face  with  the  woman,  whom  even  at  this  moment  he  loved 
more  in  the  certainty  of  having  lost  her,  than  ever  in  the  pride 
and  ecstasy  of  possession. 

Seemingly  hemmed  in  by  an  obstacle,  the  nature,  which  he 
knew  not,  she  stood  before  him  paralyzed  with  horror.  As 
his  hand  went  out  towards  her,  the  gesture  seemed  to  break  the 
spell,  and  uttering  a  despairing  shriek,  she  sprang  towards  a 
door  behind  the  landing  and  rushed  out. 

Eckhardt's  breath  stopped. 

A  moment,  —  he  heard  an  outcry  of  inexpressible  horror, — 
a  struggle,  then  a  hollow  dash.  Hardly  conscious  of  his  own 
actions  he  uttered  a  shrill  whistle,  when  the  door  of  the  tower 
was  broken  down,  and  the  stairs  were  suddenly  crowded  with 
the  soldiers  of  the  imperial  guard,  whom  the  conflagration  had 
brought  to  the  scene. 

"  What  woman  was  that  ?  "  exclaimed  their  leader,  pointing 
to  the  place  whence  Theodora  had  made  the  fatal  leap. 

"  Whoever  ahe  is  —  she  must  be  dashed  to  pieces,"  replied 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

his  companion,  rushing  up  the  stairs  to  the  trap-door  and 
throwing  his  lighted  torch  down  the  murky  depths.  But  the 
light  was  soon  lost  in  the  profound  gloom. 

"  A  rope !  A  rope !  She  must  not,  she  shall  not  die  thus !  " 
cried  Eckhardt  in  mad,  heart-rending  despair. 

"  Here  is  one,  but  it  is  not  long  enough !  "  exclaimed  the 
captain  of  the  guard,  hardly  able  to  conceal  his  mortification 
at  finding  himself  face  to  face  with  his  general. 

"  Hark !  She  groans !  Help !  Help  me !  "  exclaimed  Eck 
hardt,  and  tearing  his  cloak  into  strips,  he  fastened  them  to 
gether.  The  work  was  swiftly  completed.  These  strips 
fastened  to  the  rope  and  securely  knotted,  Eckhardt  tied  around 
his  waist,  and  though  the  leader  of  the  men-at-arms  sought  to 
dissuade  him  from  his  desperate  purpose,  he  started  down, 
clinging  and  swinging  over  a  dreadful  depth. 

The  captain  of  the  guard  swung  the  torch  down  after  him  as 
far  as  possible,  but  soon  the  light  grew  misty,  the  voices  above 
indistinct,  and  it  seemed  to  Eckhardt  as  if  he  were  encompassed 
by  a  black  mist.  Still  he  continued  his  descent.  His  next 
sensation  was  that  of  an  intolerable  stench  and  a  burning 
heat  hi  the  hand,  caused  no  doubt  by  friction  with  the  rope. 
A  difficulty  hi  breathing,  increased  darkness  and  singing 
noises  hi  his  ears  were  successive  sensations ;  he  began  to  feel 
dizzy  and  a  dread  assailed  him,  that  he  was  about  to  swoon  and 
abandon  his  hold.  Suddenly  he  felt  the  last  notch  of  the  rope 
and,  not  knowing  what  depth  remained,  argued  that  any  further 
effort  was  in  vain.  Extending  first  one  arm,  then  another,  he 
groped  wildly  about,  striving  to  shout  for  light;  but  his  voice 
died  hi  the  gloom.  Gasping  and  almost  stifled  as  he  was,  he 
made  one  last  desperate  effort,  when  suddenly  his  groping  hand 
grasped  something,  which  appeared  to  him  either  like  hair  or 
weeds.  At  this  critical  moment  the  captain  of  the  guard 
sent  down  a  lamp,  which  he  had  procured.  It  fell  hissing 
in  the  mire,  but  it  afforded  him  sufficient  light  to  see  that  the 

418 


NEMESIS 

object  of  his  search  lay  buried  in  the  slime,  and  that  she  was 
gasping  convulsively.  Eckhardt's  strength  was  now  almost 
spent,  but  this  sight  seemed  to  restore  it  all.  Noting  a  project 
ing  ledge  of  stone  lower  down,  he  leaped  upon  it  and  was  thus 
obliged  to  abandon  his  hold  on  the  rope.  Eckhardt  seized  the 
woman  by  the  gown,  dragged  her  from  the  mire  and  making 
a  desperate  leap,  regained  the  ledge,  then  signalled  to  those 
above  to  draw  him  up  by  jerking  the  rope. 

Motionless  she  lay  on  his  arm  and  it  was  only  by  twisting 
it  in  a  peculiar  manner  round  the  rope,  that  he  was  enabled 
to  support  the  terrible  burden.  For  a  time  they  hung  sus 
pended  over  the  abyss,  yet  they  were  gradually  nearing  the 
top.  If  he  could  only  endure  the  agony  of  his  twisted  limbs 
a  little  longer,  both  were  safe.  He  could  not  shout,  for  he  felt 
that  suffocation  must  ensue ;  his  eyes  and  ears  seemed  bursting 
as  from  some  stunning  weight;  and  a  deadly  faintness  seemed 
to  benumb  his  limbs.  Suddenly,  as  by  some  miracle,  the  bur 
den  seemed  lightened,  though  he  felt  it  still  reclining  in  his 
arms.  A  wonderful  support  seemed  to  raise  up  his  own 
sinking  frame,  then  all  grew  bright  and  numerous  faces 
strained  down  on  him.  In  a  few  moments  he  was  on  a  level  with 
the  floor  and  many  arms  stretched  out,  to  help  him  land. 
Heedless  of  the  roaring  sea  of  fire  in  the  pavilion,  they  carried 
the  wretched  woman  to  the  landing,  where  they  laid  her  on 
the  floor,  attempting,  for  a  time  in  vain,  to  restore  her.  She 
seemed  suffering  from  some  severe  internal  injury  and  her  lips 
bubbled  with  gore.  At  length  she  opened  her  eyes  and  with  a 
shriek  of  agony  made  signs  that  she  was  suffocating  and  de 
sired  to  be  raised.  Eckhardt,  who  stood  beside  her,  raised  her, 
and  as  he  did  so,  she  regarded  him  with  a  wild  and  piteous 
gaze  and  murmured  his  name  in  a  tone  which  went  to  the  heart 
of  all. 

As  he  bent  over  her,  she  made  a  convulsive  effort  to  rise. 

"  I  have  slain  the  fiend,  who  came  between  us  —  forgive 

419 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

me  if  you  can  — "  she  muttered,  then  gasping:  "Heaven 
have  mercy  on  my  soul ! "  she  fell  back  into  Eckhardt's 
arms. 

At  a  sign  from  the  Margrave  the  men-at-arms  withdrew, 
leaving  him  alone  with  his  gruesome  burden. 

After  they  had  descended,  he  bent  over  the  prostrate  form, 
he  had  loved  so  well,  touching  with  gentle  fingers  the  soft,  dark 
hair,  which  lay  against  his  breast.  Once,  —  he  recalled  the 
mad  delirium  of  holding  her  thus  close  to  his  heart.  Now 
there  was  something  dreary,  weird,  and  terrible  hi  what 
would  under  other  conditions  have  been  unspeakable  rapture. 
A  chill  as  of  death  ran  through  him  as  he  supported  the  dying 
woman  in  his  arms.  Her  silken  robe,  her  perfumed  hair,  the 
cold  contact  of  the  gems  about  her,  —  all  these  repelled  him 
strangely;  his  soul  was  groaning  under  the  anguish,  his  brain 
began  to  reel  with  a  nameless,  dizzy  horror. 

At  last  she  stirred.  Her  body  quivered  in  his  hold,  conscious 
ness  returned  for  a  brief  moment,  and,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  she 
whispered  as  from  the  depths  of  a  dream: 

"Eckhardt!" 

A  fierce  pang  convulsed  the  heart  of  the  unhappy  man. 
He  started  so  abruptly,  that  he  almost  let  her  drop  from  his 
supporting  arms.  But  his  voice  was  choked;  he  could  not 
speak. 

A  groan,  —  a  convulsive  shudder,  —  a  last  sigh,  —  and 
Theodora's  spirit  had  flown  from  the  lacerated  flesh. 

In  silent  anguish  Eckhardt  knelt  beside  the  body  of  the 
woman,  heedless  of  the  hurricane  which  raged  without,  heedless 
of  the  flames,  which,  creeping  closer  and  closer,  began  to  lick 
the  tower  with  their  crimson  tongues.  At  last,  aroused  by  the 
warning  cries  of  the  men-at-arms  below,  Eckhardt  staggered 
to  his  feet  with  the  dead  body,  and  scarcely  had  he  emerged 
from  the  tower,  when  a  terrible  roar,  a  deafening  crash  struck 
his  ear.  The  roof  and  walls  of  the  great  pavilion  had 

420 


NEMESIS 

fallen  in  and  millions  of  sparks  hissed  up  into  the  flaming 
ether. 

For  a  moment  Eckhardt  paused,  stupefied  by  the  sheer  horror 
of  the  scene.  The  pavilion  was  now  but  a  hissing,  shrieking 
pyramid  of  flames ;  the  hot  and  blinding  glare  almost  too  much 
for  human  eyes  to  endure.  Yet  so  fascinated  was  he  with  the 
sublime  terror  of  the  spectacle  that  he  could  scarcely  turn 
away  from  it.  A  host  of  spectral  faces  seemed  to  rise  out  of 
the  flames  and  beckon  to  him,  to  return,  —  when  a  tremendous 
peal  of  thunder,  rolling  in  eddying  vibrations  through  the 
heavens,  recalled  him  to  the  realization  of  the  moment,  and 
gave  the  needful  spur  to  his  flagging  energies.  Raising  his 
aching  eyes,  Eckhardt  saw  straight  before  him  a  gloomy 
archway,  appearing  like  the  solemn  portal  of  some  funeral 
vault,  dark  and  ominous,  yet  promising  relief  for  the  moment. 
Stumbling  over  the  dead  bodies  of  Roxane  and  Roffredo  and 
several  other  corpses  strewn  among  fallen  blocks  of  marble, 
and  every  now  and  then  looking  back  in  irresistible  fascination 
on  the  fiery  furnace  in  his  rear,  he  carried  his  lifeless  burden 
to  the  nearest  shelter.  He  dared  not  think  of  the  beauty  of 
that  dead  face,  of  its  subtle  slumbrous  charm,  and  stung  to  a 
new  sense  of  desperation  he  plunged  recklessly  into  the  dark 
aperture,  which  seemed  to  engulf  him  like  the  gateway  of  some 
magic  cavern.  He  found  himself  in  a  circular,  roofless  court, 
paved  with  marble,  long  discoloured  by  climate  and  age. 
Here  he  tenderly  laid  his  burden  down,  and  kneeling  by 
Ginevra's  side,  hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 

A  second  crash,  that  seemed  to  rend  the  very  heavens, 
caused  Eckhardt  at  last  to  wake  from  his  apathy  of  despair. 
A  terrible  spectacle  met  his  eyes.  The  east  wall  of  the  tower, 
in  which  Ginevra  had  sought  refuge  and  found  death,  had 
fallen  out;  the  victorious  fire  roared  loudly  round  its  summit, 
enveloping  the  whole  structure  in  clouds  of  smoke  and  jets  of 
flame ;  whose  lurid  lights  crimsoned  the  murky  air  like  a  wide 

421 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

Aurora  Borealis.  But  on  the  platform  of  the  tower  there  stood 
a  solitary  human  being,  cut  off  from  retreat,  enveloped  by  the 
roaring  element,  by  a  sea  of  flame! 

With  a  groan  of  anguish,  Eckhardt  fixed  his  straining  eyes 
on  the  dark  form  of  Hezilo  the  harper,  whom  no  human 
intervention  could  save  from  his  terrible  doom.  Whether  his 
eagerness,  to  avenge  his  dead  child  or  her  betrayer,  had  carried 
him  too  far,  whether  in  his  fruitless  search  for  the  Chamber 
lain  he  had  grown  oblivious  of  the  perils  besetting  his  path, 
whether  too  late  he  had  thought  of  retreat,  —  clearly  defined 
against  the  lurid,  flame-swept  horizon  his  tall  dark  form  stood 
out  on  the  crest  of  the  tower ;  —  another  moment  of  breathless 
horrid  suspense  and  the  tower  collapsed  with  a  deafening 
crash,  carrying  its  lonely  occupant  to  his  perhaps  self-elected 
doom. 

All  that  night  Eckhardt  knelt  by  the  dead  body  of  his  wife. 
When  the  bleak,  gray  dawn  of  the  rising  day  broke  over  the 
crest  of  the  Sabine  hills  he  rose,  and  went  away.  Soon  after  a 
company  of  monks  appeared  and  carried  Theodora's  remains 
to  the  mortuary  chapel  of  San  Pancrazio,  where  they  were  to 
be  laid  to  their  last  and  eternal  rest. 


422 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


VALE   ROMA 

T  was  the  eve  of  All  Souls  Day 
in  the  year  nine  hundred  ninety 
nine,  —  the  day  so  fitly  recalling 
the  fleeting  glories  of  summer, 
of  youth,  of  life,  a  day  of 
memories  and  tributes  offered 
up  to  the  departed. 

Afar  to  westward  the  sun, 
red  as  a  buckler  fallen  from 
Vulcan,  still  cast  his  burning 
reflections.  On  the  horizon  with  changing  sunset  tints  glowed 
the  departing  orb,  brightening  the  crimson  and  russet  foliage 
on  terrace  and  garden  walls.  At  last  the  burning  disk  dis 
appeared  amid  a  mass  of  opalescent  clouds,  which  had  risen 
in  the  west;  the  fading  sunset  hues  swooned  to  the  gray  of 
twilight  and  the  breath  of  scanty  flowers,  the  odour  of  dead 
leaves  touched  the  air  with  perfume  faint  as  the  remembered 
pathos  of  autumn.  No  breeze  stirred  the  dead  leaves  still 
clinging  to  their  branches,  no  sound  broke  the  silence,  save 
from  a  cloister  the  hum  of  many  droning  voices.  Now  and 
then  the  air  was  touched  with  the  fragrance  of  hayfields,  re 
claimed  here  and  there  upon  the  Campagna,  and  mists  were 
slowly  descending  upon  the  snow-capped  peak  of  Soracte. 
In  the  dim  purple  haze  of  the  distance  the  circle  of  walls, 
a  last  vestige  of  the  defence  of  the  ancient  world,  stood 
a  sun-browned  line  of  watch-towers  against  the  horizon. 
From  their  crenelated  ramparts  at  long  distances,  a  sentinel 

423 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

looked  wearily  upon  the  undulating  stretch  of  vacant,  fading 
green. 

In  the  portico  of  the  imperial  palace  on  the  Aventine  sat 
Eckhardt,  staring  straight  before  him.  Since  the  terrible 
night,  which  had  culminated  in  the  crisis  of  his  life,  the  then 
mature  man  seemed  to  have  aged  decades.  The  lines  in  his 
face  had  grown  deeper,  the  furrows  on  his  brow  lowered  over 
the  painfully  contracted  eyebrows.  No  one  had  ventured  to 
speak  to  him,  no  one  to  break  in  upon  his  solitude.  The  world 
around  him  seemed  to  have  vanished,  He  heard  nothing,  he 
saw  nothing.  His  heart  within  him  seemed  to  be  a  thing  dead 
to  all  the  world,  —  to  have  died  with  Ginevra.  Only  now  and 
then  he  gazed  with  longing,  wistful  glances  towards  the  far- 
off  northern  horizon,  where  the  Alps  raised  their  glittering 
crests,  —  a  boundary  line,  not  to  be  transgressed  with  impunity. 
Would  he  ever  again  see  the  green,  waving  forests  of  his  Saxon- 
land,  would  his  foot  ever  again  tread  the  mysterious  dusk  of 
the  glades  over  which  pines  and  oaks  wove  their  waving 
shadows,  those  glades  once  sacred  to  Odhin  and  the  Gods  of  the 
Northland  ?  Those  glades  undented  by  the  poison-stench  of 
Rome  ?  How  he  longed  for  that  purer  sphere,  where  he  might 
forget  —  forget  ?  Can  we  forget  the  fleeting  ray  of  sunlight, 
that  has  brightened  our  existence,  and  departing  has  left  sorrow 
and  anguish  and  gloom  ? 

Eckhardt's  heart  was  heavy  to  breaking. 

As  evening  wore  on,  it  was  evident,  that  there  was  some  new, 
great  commotion  in  the  city.  From  every  quarter  pillars  of 
dun  smoke  rose  up  in  huge  columns  which,  spreading  fan-like, 
hung  sullenly  in  the  yellow  of  the  sunset.  Houses  were  burning. 
Swords  were  out.  In  the  distance  straggling  parties  could  be 
seen,  hurrying  hither  and  thither. 

"  There  is  a  devil's  carnival  brewing,  or  I  am  forsworn," 
muttered  the  Margrave  as  he  arose  and  entered  the  palace. 
There  he  ordered  every  gate  to  be  closed  and  barricaded.  He 

424 


VALE    ROMA 

knew  Roman  treachery,  and  he  knew  the  weakness  of  the 
garrison. 

The  roar  of  the  populace  grew  louder  and  nearer,  minute  by 
minute.  Eckhardt  had  hardly  reached  the  imperial  ante 
chamber,  ere  the  crest  of  the  Aventine  fairly  swarmed  with  a 
rebellious  mob,  whose  numbers  were  steadily  increasing. 
Already  they  outnumbered  the  imperial  guard  a  hundred  to 
one. 

It  soon  became  evident,  that  their  clamour  could  not  be 
appeased  by  peaceful  persuasion.  Disregarding  Eckhardt's 
protests,  Otto  had  made  one  last  effort  to  try  the  spell  of  his 
person  upon  the  Romans;  —  but  hootings  and  revilings  had 
been  the  only  reply  vouchsafed  by  the  rabble  of  Rome  to  the 
son  of  Theophano. 

"  Where  is  Benilo  ?  We  will  speak  to  Benilo,  —  the  friend 
of  the  people !  "  they  shouted,  and  when  he  failed  to  appear, 
they  cried :  "  They  have  slam  him,  as  they  slew  Crescentius," 
and  a  shower  of  stones  hailed  against  the  walls  of  the  palace. 

Otto  escaped  unscathed.  Once  more  in  his  chamber  he 
broke  down.  His  powers  were  waning;  his  resistance  spent. 
The  death  of  Crescentius,  —  the  loss  of  Stephania  filled  him 
with  unutterable  despair.  He  thought  of  the  mysterious  death 
of  Benilo,  whose  gashed  body  some  fisherman  had  discovered 
in  the  Tiber,  and  whose  real  character  Eckhardt's  account  of 
his  crimes  and  misdeeds  had  at  last  revealed  to  him.  He  knew 
now  that  he  had  been  the  dupe  of  a  traitor,  who  had  system 
atically  undermined  the  lofty  structure  of  his  dreams,  whose 
fall  was  to  bury  under  its  ruins  the  last  of  the  glorious  Saxon 
dynasty,  —  a  traitor,  who  had  deliberately  set  about  to  break 
the  heart  whose  unspoken  secret  he  had  read.  And  this  was 
the  end! 

"  Hark !  The  Romans  are  battering  at  the  gates !  "  Haco, 
the  captain  of  the  guard,  addressed  Eckhardt,  entering  breath 
lessly  and  unannounced. 

425 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

"  Where  they  shall  batter  long  enough,"  Eckhardt  growled 
fiercely.  "  The  gates  are  triple  brass  and  bolted !  Hold  the 
yelping  curs  hi  check,  till  we  are  ready! " 

Haco  departed  and  Eckhardt  now  prepared  Otto  for  the 
necessity  of  flight.  All  Rome  was  hi  arms  against  them !  This 
time  it  was  not  the  Senator.  The  people  themselves  were  bent 
upon  Otto's  capture  or  death.  Resistance  was  madness.  With 
out  a  word  Otto  yielded.  Sick,  body  and  soul,  he  cared  no 
longer.  A  slow  fever  seemed  to  consume  him,  since  Stephania 
had  gone  from  him.  The  malady  was  past  cure,  —  for  he 
wished  to  die.  The  mute  grief  of  the  stricken  youth  went  to 
Eckhardt's  heart.  Of  his  own  despair  he  dared  not  even  think 
at  this  hour,  when  the  destinies  of  a  dynasty  weighed  upon  his 
shoulders,  weighed  him  down:  —  he  must  get  Otto  safely  out 
of  Rome  —  at  any,  at  every  cost. 

"Hark,  below!" 

An  uproar  of  voices  and  heavy  blows  against  the  portals 
rang  up  to  their  ears. 

Eckhardt  seized  a  torch  and,  sword  hi  hand,  opened  the 
secret  panel. 

"  The  back  way,  —  the  garden,  —  'tis  for  our  lives!"  he 
whispered  to  Otto,  who  had  hastily  thrown  a  dark  mantle  over 
his  person  which  might  serve  to  evade  detention  hi  case  they 
met  some  chance  straggler.  The  panel  closed  behind  them  and 
Eckhardt  locked  every  door  in  the  long  corridor,  through 
which  they  passed,  to  delay  pursuit.  They  descended  a  flight 
of  stairs,  and  found  themselves  in  a  hall,  which  through  a 
ruined  portico,  terminated  hi  a  garden.  Here  Eckhardt 
extinguished  the  torch  and  they  paused  and  listened. 

Before  them  lay  a  deserted  garden  with  marble  statues 
and  weed-grown  terraces.  The  gravel  walks  were  strewn  with 
tiny  twigs  and  leaves  of  faded  summer,  and  stained  hi  places 
with  a  dark  green  mould.  There  was  the  soft  splash  of 
water  trickling  from  huge  mossy  vases,  and  here  and  there 

426 


VALE   ROMA 

through  a  break  in  the  foliage,  peered  an  arrowy  shaft  of 
moonlight. 

Here  they  were  to  await  the  arrival  of  Haco  and  his  men. 
Suddenly  the  glint  of  a  halberd  beyond  the  wall  caught  Eck- 
hardt's  ever  watchful  eye;  he  counted  three  hi  succession  on 
the  other  side  of  the  wall.  The  Romans  seemed  bent  to  deprive 
them  of  their  only  way  of  flight.  Eckhardt  glanced  about. 
The  wall  on  the  western  side  seemed  unguarded.  Here 
the  Aventine  fell  in  a  steep  declivity  towards  the  Tiber. 
Eckhardt  perceived  there  was  but  one  course  and  took  it 
instantly. 

At  this  moment  Haco  and  his  men-at-arms  emerged  with 
drawn  swords  from  the  laurel  thickets,  hi  whose  concealment 
they  had  awaited  their  leader  and  King.  Motioning  to  Otto 
and  his  companions  to  imitate  his  movements,  Eckhardt 
crouched  down  and  stole  cautiously  along  the  edge  of  the  wall. 
Meanwhile  the  tumult  without  was  increased  by  the  hoarse 
braying  of  a  horn.  Men  could  be  seen  rushing  about  with 
drawn  swords  or  any  other  weapons  close  at  hand,  staves, 
clubs  and  sticks,  shouting  and  yelling  hi  direst  confusion. 

Amidst  this  uproar  the  small  band  reached  the  edge  of  the 
Tiber  and  their  repeated  signals  caused  a  boat  rowed  by  a 
gigantic  fellow  to  approach.  The  oarsman,  however,  insisted 
on  his  pay  before  he  would  take  them  across. 

After  they  had  safely  reached  the  opposite  shore  they  bound 
and  gagged  the  owner  of  the  craft,  to  insure  his  secrecy.  Then 
the  party  sped  up  a  narrow  lane  and  paused  before  a  ruinous 
house  which,  to  judge  from  its  black  and  crumbling  beams, 
seemed  to  have  been  recently  destroyed  by  fire.  Here  they 
waited  until  one  of  the  party  secured  their  steeds. 

During  all  this  time  Otto  had  not  spoken  a  word. 

Now  that  he  was  about  to  mount  the  steed,  which  was  to 
bear  him  from  Rome  for  ever,  he  turned  with  one  last  heart 
breaking  look  toward  the  city. 

427 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

A  desire,  fierce  as  that  of  hunger,  wearing  as  that  of  sleep, 
filled  him,  —  the  desire  of  death. 

At  last  he  rode  away  with  the  others. 

The  night  grew  darker.  The  sky  was  full  of  clouds  and  the 
wind  shrieked  through  the  spectral  branches  of  the  pines. 
The  travellers  pursued  their  way  along  the  well  beaten  tracks 
of  the  Flaminian  Way,  keeping  a  constant  look-out  for  sur 
prises.  They  re-crossed  the  Tiber  at  a  ford  above  the  city, 
and  then  only  they  brought  their  steeds  to  a  more  leisurely  gait. 

Gradually  the  ground  began  to  ascend. 

A  turn  in  the  road  brought  them  to  a  high  plateau.  Its 
rising  knolls  were  crowned  with  broad  and  ancient  plane- 
trees,  in  the  midst  of  which  towered  a  gibbet,  from  which 
swung  the  bodies  of  two  malefactors,  recently  executed.  Otto 
shuddered  at  the  omen.  Death  on  every  turn,  —  death  at 
every  step.  The  moon  at  fitful  intervals  cast  from  between 
the  rifts  in  the  clouds  a  feeble  radiance  upon  desolate  fields. 
A  company  of  hungry  crows  rose  at  the  approach  of  the  horse 
men  from  the  stubble,  filled  the  air  with  their  cawing  and 
flapped  their  way  swiftly  out  of  sight.  At  that  moment  a  horse 
man  galloped  past  with  great  rapidity,  seeming  eagerly  to 
scan  the  cavalcade.  He  was  closely  muffled  and  had  vanished 
in  the  night,  ere  he  could  be  hailed  or  recognized. 

Rome  swiftly  vanished  behind  them.  After  passing  the 
last  scattered  houses  on  the  outskirts,  they  finally  reached  the 
open  Campagna.  The  darkness  increased  and  the  night  wore 
every  appearance  of  proving  a  dismal  one.  The  wind  was  high 
and  swept  the  clouds  wildly  over  the  face  of  the  moon. 

In  silence  they  proceeded  on  their  way,  until  they  espied  a 
low  range  of  hills,  white  on  the  summits  with  lightning.  A 
dense  wood  skirted  the  road  on  the  left  for  several  miles.  But 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  penetrate  the  murky  twilight,  no  human 
being,  no  human  habitation  appeared. 

In  the  ruins  of  an  old  monastery  they  spent  the  night,  and 

428 


VALE    ROMA 

for  the  first  in  three,  Otto  slept.  But  his  sleep  did  not  refresh 
him,  nor  restore  his  strength.  Throughout  his  fitful  slumbers, 
he  saw  the  pale  face  of  Stephania,  the  face,  which  with  so  mad 
a  longing  he  had  dreamed  into  his  heart,  the  heart  she  had 
broken,  but  which  loved  her  still. 

Gloomily  the  morning  light  of  the  succeeding  day  broke 
upon  the  Roman  Campagna.  The  sun  was  hidden  behind  a 
lowering  sky  and  fitful  gusts  of  wind  swept  the  great,  barren 
expanse.  Undaunted,  though  their  hearts  were  filled  with 
dire  misgivings,  the  small  band  continued  their  march,  north 
ward,  ever  northward,  —  towards  the  goal  of  their  journey, 
the  Castel  of  Paterno,  perched  on  the  distant  slopes  of 
Soracte. 


429 


Book  the  Third 

ur  Lady 
of  Death 


431 


"  As  I  came  through  the  desert,  thus  it  was, 
As  I  came  through  the  desert :  From  the  right 
A  shape  came  slowly  with  a  ruddy  light, 
A  woman  with  a  red  lamp  in  her  hand, 
Bareheaded  and  barefooted  on  that  strand. 
A  large  black  sign  was  on  her  breast  that  bowed, 
A  broad  black  band  ran  down  her  snow-white  shroud. 
That  lamp  she  held,  was  her  own  burning  heart, 
Whose  blood-drops  trickled  step  by  step  apart." 

—  James  Thomson. 


432 


CHAPTER  I 


PATERNO 

HE  sun  was  nigh  the  horizon, 
and  the  whole  west  glowed  with 
exquisite  colour,  reflected  in  the 
watery  moors  of  the  Campagna, 
as  a  troop  of  horsemen  ap 
proached  the  high  tableland 
skirting  the  Cimmmian  foot 
hills.  Not  a  human  being  was 
visible  for  many  miles  around; 
only  a  few  wild  fowl  fluttered 
over  the  pools  and  reedy  islets  of  the  marshes  and  the  lake  of 
Bolsena  gleamed  crimson  in  the  haze  of  the  sunset. 

The  boundless,  undulant  plain  spread  before  them,  its  farms, 
villas  and  aqueducts  no  less  eloquent  of  death  than  the  tombs 
they  had  passed  on  the  silent  Via  Appia.  The  still  air  and  the 
deep  hush  seemed  to  speak  to  man's  soul  as  with  the  voice  of 
eternity.  On  the  left  of  the  horsemen  yawned  a  deep  ravine, 
from  which  arose  towering  cliffs,  crowned  with  monasteries 
and  convents.  On  their  right  lay  the  mountain  chains  of  the 
Abruzzi,  resembling  dark  and  troubled  sea-waves,  and  to 
southward  the  view  was  bounded  by  the  billowy  lines  of  the 
Sabine  hills,  rolling  infinitely  away.  Beyond  they  saw  the 
villages  scattered  through  the  gray  Campagna  and  in  the 
farthest  distance  the  mountain  shadows  began  to  darken  over 
the  roofs  of  ancient  Tusculum  and  that  second  Alba  which 
rises  hi  desolate  neglect  above  the  vanished  palaces  of  Pompey 
and  Domitian. 

433 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

It  was  the  day  on  which  is  observed  the  poetic  Festa  dell' 
Ottobrata,  a  festival  of  pagan  significance,  with  the  archaic 
dance  and  garlanded  processions  of  harvest  and  vintage,  when 
the  townsfolk  go  out  into  the  country,  to  look  upon  the  mellow 
tints  of  autumn,  to  walk  in  the  vineyards,  to  taste  the  purple 
grapes,  and  to  breathe  the  fragrance,  filling  the  air  with  odours 
finer  than  the  flavour  of  wine.  The  fields  were  mellowed  to 
yellow  stubble  and  the  creepers  touched  by  the  first  chill  of 
autumn  hung  in  crimson  garlands  along  the  russet  hedges. 
Here  and  there,  among  the  stately  poplars  loomed  up  farm 
houses  with  thatched  roofs,  which  from  afar  resembled  pointed 
haystacks  on  the  horizon.  At  intervals  among  the  crimson  and 
russet  leafage  rose  a  spectral  cypress,  like  a  sombre  shadow. 
In  the  haze  of  the  distance  crooked  olive-trees  raised  their 
branches  in  tints  of  silver-gray.  The  air  was  still,  but  for  an 
occasional  hum  of  insect  life.  The  faint,  white  outlines  of  the 
Apennines  shone  brilliant  and  glistening  in  the  evening  glow. 
The  travellers  passed  Camaldoli  with  its  convents  reared  upon 
high,  almost  inaccessible  cliffs ;  the  cloisters  of  Monte  Cassino 
had  vanished  behind  them  in  silvery  haze.  They  approached 
Paterno  by  a  road  skirted  with  villas  and  gardens,  with  ancient 
statues  and  shady  alleys.  The  proximity  of  the  mountains 
made  the  air  chill;  here  and  there  a  ray  of  sunlight  filtered 
through  the  branches  of  the  plane-trees. 

High  Paterno  towered  above,  among  its  rocks  and  steeps. 

Ever  since  their  flight  from  Rome,  Otto  had  been  in  the 
throes  of  a  benumbing  lethargy,  which  had  deprived  him  of 
interest  hi  everything,  even  life  itself.  Vain  had  been  his 
companions'  effort  to  rouse  him  from  his  brooding  state, 
vainly  had  they  pointed  out  to  him  the  beauties  of  the  land 
scape.  Was  it  the  ghost  of  Johannes  Crescentius,  the  Senator 
of  Rome,  that  was  haunting  the  son  of  Theophano  ? 

After  having  crossed  a  swinging  bridge,  which  swayed  to 
and  fro  under  the  weight  of  their  iron  mail,  they  arrived  at  a 

434 


PATERNO 

narrow  causeway,  above  which,  like  some  contemplative 
spirit  above  the  conflicting  problems  of  life,  rose  the  cloisters, 
environing  the  ancient  Castel  of  Paterno.  Eckhardt  knocked 
at  the  barred  gate  with  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  whereupon  a 
monk  appeared  at  the  window  of  a  tower  above  the  portcullis, 
and  after  reconnoitring,  set  some  machinery  in  motion,  by 
which  the  portcullis  was  raised.  They  then  found  themselves 
in  a  long,  narrow  causeway  cut  in  the  rock.  The  monk  who 
had  admitted  them  disappeared;  another  ushered  them  into 
the  great  hall  of  the  cloister.  The  air  was  full  of  the  lingering 
haze  of  incense,  and  traces  of  devotional  paintings  on  the 
weather-beaten  walls  appeared  like  fragments  of  prayers  hi  a 
world-worn  mind. 

The  hall  had  been  made  from  a  natural  cavern  and  was  of 
an  exceedingly  gloomy  aspect,  being  of  great  extent,  with  deep 
windows  only  on  one  side,  hewn  hi  the  solid  granite.  It  was 
at  intervals  crossed  by  arches,  marking  the  termination  of 
several  galleries  leading  to  remoter  parts  of  the  monastery. 
In  the  centre  was  a  long  stone  table,  hewn  from  the  rock;  a 
pulpit,  supported  on  a  pillar  was  similarly  sculptured  hi  the 
wall.  Five  or  six  pine-wood  torches,  stuck  at  far  intervals 
in  the  granite,  shed  a  dismal  illumination  through  the  gloom, 
enhanced  rather  than  diminished  by  the  glow  of  red  embers 
on  a  vast  hearth  at  the  farthest  extremity  of  the  hall. 

Eckhardt  was  about  to  prefer  his  request  to  the  monk,  who 
had  conducted  them  hither,  when  he  was  interrupted  by  the 
entrance  of  the  abbot  and  a  long  train  of  monks  from  their 
devotions.  The  monks  advanced  La  solemn  silence,  their 
heads  sunk  humbly  on  their  breasts;  their  superior  so  worn 
with  vigils  and  fasts,  that  his  gaunt  and  powerful  frame 
resembled  a  huge  skeleton.  He  was  the  only  one  of  the  group 
who  uttered  a  word  of  welcome  to  his  guests. 

After  having  ordered  Haco  to  attend  to  the  wants  of  his 
lord,  Eckhardt  sought  a  conference  with  the  abbot  on  matters 

435 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

which  lay  close  to  his  heart.  For  his  sovereign  was  ill  —  and 
his  illness  seemed  to  defy  human  skill.  The  abbot  listened  to 
Eckhardt's  recital  of  the  past  events,  but  his  diagnosis  was  far 
from  quieting  the  latter's  fears. 

"  You  learn  to  speak  and  think  very  dismally  among  these 
great,  sprawling  pine  forests,"  Eckhardt  said  moodily,  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  conference. 

"We  learn  to  die!"  replied  the  monk  with  melancholy 
austerity. 

Consideration  for  his  sovereign's  safety,  however,  prompted 
Eckhardt,  who  had  been  informed  that  straggling  bands  of 
their  pursuers  had  followed  them  to  the  base  of  the  hill,  to 
continue  that  same  night  under  guidance  of  a  monk,  the 
ascent  to  the  almost  impregnable  heighths  of  Castel  Paterno. 
Here  Otto  and  his  small  band  were  welcomed  by  Count  Tam- 
mus,  the  commander,  who  placed  himself  and  his  men-at- 
arms  at  the  disposal  of  the  German  King. 


436 


CHAPTER  II 


MEMORIES 


TTO  found  himself  in  a  state 
chamber,  whose  gloomy  vast- 
ness  was  lighted,  or  rather 
darkened  by  one  single  taper. 
Through  the  high  oval  windows 
in  the  deep  recess  of  the  wall 
peered  an  errant  ray  of  moon 
light,  which  illumined  the  quaint 
monastic  paintings  on  the  walls, 
and  crossing  the  yellow  candle 
light,  imbued  them  with  a  strange  ghostly  glare. 

When  his  host  had  ministered  to  his  comfort  and  served 
him  with  the  frugal  fare  of  the  cloister,  Otto  hinted  his  desire 
for  sleep,  and  his  trusty  Saxons  entered  on  their  watch 
before  their  sovereign's  chamber. 

At  last,  left  alone,  Otto  listened  with  a  heavy  heart  to  the 
monotonous  tread  of  the  sentries.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he 
could  now  take  a  survey  of  the  events  of  his  life,  and  pass  sen 
tence  upon  it  with  the  impartiality  of  the  future  chronicler. 
Recollection  roused  up  recollection;  and  as  in  a  panorama, 
the  scenes  of  his  short,  but  eventful  career  passed  in  review 
before  his  inner  eye.  He  thought  of  what  he  was,  contrasting 
it  painfully  with  all  he  might  have  been.  The  image  of  the  one 
being,  for  whom  his  soul  yearned  in  its  desolation,  with  the 
blinding  hunger  of  man  for  woman  and  woman's  love,  rose  up 
before  his  eyes,  and  for  the  first  time  he  thought  of  death, 
—  death,  —  hi  its  full  and  ghastly  actuality. 

437 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

What  was  it,  this  death  ?  Was  it  a  sleep  ?  Merely  the 
absence,  not  the  privation  of  those  powers  and  senses,  called 
life  ?  What  sort  of  passage  must  the  thinking  particle  pass 
through,  whatever  it  may  be,  —  ere  it  stood  naked  of  its  clay  ? 
The  breaking  of  the  eyes  hi  darkness,  —  what  then  succeeded  ? 
Would  the  thinking  atom  survive,  —  would  it  become  the 
nothing  that  it  was  ? 

The  aspect  of  the  chamber  was  not  one  to  dispel  the  gloomy 
visions  that  haunted  him.  It  was  scantily  furnished  in  the 
crude  style  of  the  tenth  century,  with  massive  tables  and 
chairs.  A  curious  tapestry  of  eastern  origin,  representing  some 
legend  of  the  martyrs,  divided  it  from  an  adjoining  cabinet 
serving  at  once  as  an  oratory  and  sleeping  apartment.  A  low 
fire,  burning  in  the  chimney  to  dispel  the  miasmas  of  the 
marshes,  shed  a  crimson  glow  over  the  chamber  and  its  lonely 
inmate. 

For  a  long  time  those  who  watched  before  his  door  heard 
him  walk  restlessly  up  and  down.  At  last  weariness  came  over 
him  and  he  threw  himself  exhausted  into  a  chair.  Then  the 
haunting  memory  of  Stephania  conjured  up  before  his  half- 
dreaming  senses  an  alluring,  shimmering  Fata  Morgana  — 
a  castle  on  one  of  those  far-away  Apulian  head-lands,  with 
their  purpling  hills  hi  the  background  and  the  scent  of  strange 
flowers  in  the  air.  On  many  a  summer  morning  they  should 
walk  hand  hi  hand  through  the  Laburnum  groves,  and  find 
their  love  anew.  But  the  amber  sheen  of  the  landscape  faded 
into  the  violet  of  night.  The  vision  faded  into  nothingness. 
A  peal  of  thunder  reverberated  through  the  heavens,  —  Otto 
started  with  a  moan,  rose,  and  staggered  to  his  couch. 

He  closed  his  eyes ;  but  sleep  would  not  come. 

Where  was  she  now  ?  Where  was  Stephania  ?  Weeks 
had  passed,  since  they  had  last  met.  It  seemed  an  eternity 
indeed !  He  should  have  remained  in  Rome,  till  he  was  assured 
of  her  fate !  She  had  left  him  with  words  of  hatred,  of  scorn, 

438 


MEMORIES 

bitter  and  cruel.  And  yet!  How  gladly  he  would  have  saved 
the  man,  his  mortal  enemy,  forsooth,  had  it  lain  in  his  power. 
Gladly?  —  No  !  The  man  who  had  thrice  forsworn,  thrice 
broken  his  faith,  deserved  his  doom.  Now  he  was  dead.  But 
Rome  was  lost.  What  mattered  it  ?  There  was  but  one 
devouring  thought  in  Otto's  mind.  Where  was  Stephania  ? 
The  mad  longing  for  her  became  more  intense  with  every 
moment.  Now  that  the  worst  had  come  to  pass,  now  that  the 
stunning  blow  had  fallen,  he  must  rouse  himself,  he  must 
rally.  He  must  combat  this  fever,  which  was  slowly  consum 
ing  him;  he  must  find  her,  see  her  once  more  on  earth,  if  but 
to  tell  her  how  he  loved  her,  her  and  no  other  woman.  Would 
the  pale  phantom  of  Crescentius  still  stand  between  them, — • 
still  part  them  as  of  yore  ?  Not  if  their  loves  were  equal.  His 
hands  were  stainless  of  that  blood.  On  the  morrow  he  would 
despatch  Haco  to  Rome.  Surely  some  one  would  have  seen 
her;  surely  some  one  knew  where  the  wife  of  the  Senator  of 
Rome  was  hiding  her  sorrow,  —  her  grief. 

The  dim  light  of  the  ceremonial  lamp,  which  burned  with 
a  dull,  veiled  flame  before  an  image  of  the  crucified  Christ, 
flickered,  as  if  fanned  by  a  passing  breath. 

There  was  deep  silence  in  the  king's  bed-chamber,  and  the 
drawn  tapestry  shut  out  every  sound  from  without. 

Noiselessly  a  secret  panel  in  the  wall  opened  behind  Otto's 
couch.  Noiselessly  it  closed  in  the  gray  stone.  Then  an 
exquisite  white  hand  and  arm  were  thrust  through  the  draperies 
and  the  lovely  face  of  Stephania  beamed  on  the  sleeping  youth. 
She  was  pale  as  death,  but  the  transparency  of  her  skin  and 
the  absolute  perfection  of  her  form  and  features  made  her  the 
image  of  an  Olympian  Goddess.  Her  dark  hair,  bound  by  a 
fillet  of  gold,  enhanced  the  marble  pallor  of  the  exquisite 
face. 

Never  had  the  wonderful  eyes  of  Stephania  seemed  so  full 
of  fire  and  of  life.  Stooping  over  the  sleeper,  she  softly  en- 

439 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

circled  his  head  with  her  snowy  arms  and  pressed  a  long  kiss 
on  the  dry,  fevered  lips. 

With  a  moan  Otto  opened  his  eyes.  For  a  moment  he 
stared  as  if  he  faced  an  apparition  from  dream-land.  —  His 
breath  stopped,  then  he  uttered  a  choked  outcry  of  delirious 
joy,  while  his  arms  tightly  encircled  the  head  which  bent  over 
him. 

"  At  last!  At  last!  At  last!  Oh,  how  I  have  longed,  how 
I  have  pined  for  you !  Stephania  —  my  darling  —  my  love  — • 
tell  me  that  you  do  not  hate  me  —  but  is  it  you  indeed,  —  is  it 
you  ?  How  did  you  come  here  —  the  guards,  —  Eckhardt,  —  " 

He  paused  with  a  terrible  fear  in  his  heart,  ever  and  ever 
caressing  the  dark  head,  the  beloved  face,  whose  eyes  held  his 
own  with  their  magnetic  spell.  She  suffered  his  kisses  and 
caresses  while  stroking  his  damp  brow  with  soothing  hand. 
Then  with  a  grave  look  she  enjoined  silence  and  caution, 
crept  to  the  door  of  the  adjoining  room  and  locked  it  from 
within. 

"  They  guard  you  so  well,  not  a  ghost  could  enter,"  she 
said  with  the  sweet  smile  of  by-gone  days. 

He  arose  and  drew  the  curtains  closer.  Then  he  sat  down 
by  her  side. 

"  How  came  you  here,  Stephania  ?  "  he  whispered  with 
renewed  fear  and  dread.  "  If  you  are  discovered,  —  God  have 
mercy  on  you,  —  and  me !  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  have  followed  you  hither  from  Rome,  —  I  passed  you 
on  the  night  of  your  flight.  Count  Tammus,  the  commander  of 
Paterno,  at  one  time  the  friend  of  the  Senator  of  Rome,  has 
offered  me  the  hospitality  of  the  castello.  No  one  knows  of  my 
presence  here,  save  an  old  monk,  who  believes  me  some 
itinerant  pilgrim,  in  search  of  the  End  of  Time,"  she  whispered 
with  her  far-away  look.  "  The  End  of  Time." 

"  They  say  it  is  close  at  hand,"  Otto  replied,  holding  her 

440 


MEMORIES 

hands  tightly  hi  his.  "  Oh,  Stephania,  how  beautiful  you  are! 
That  which  has  broken  my  spirit,  seems  not  to  have  touched 
your  life !  " 

"My  life  is  dead,"  she  replied.  "What  remains,  —  re 
mains  through  you.  Therefore  time  has  lacked  power.  But 
that  which  has  been  and  is  no  more,  stands  immovable  before 
my  soul." 

He  gazed  at  her  with  large  fear-struck  eyes. 

"  Then  —  your  heart  is  no  longer  mine  ?  " 

The  grasp  of  the  hands  hi  his  own  tightened. 

"  Would  I  be  here,  silly  dreamer  ?  I  love  you  —  my  heart 
knows  no  change.  It  loved  but  once  —  and  you!  " 

All  the  happiness,  slumbering  in  the  deep  eyes  of  the  son  of 
Theophano,  burst  forth  as  in  a  glorious  aureole  of  light. 

"  Then  you  have  never  —  " 

She  raised  her  hand  forbiddingly. 

"  I  could  not  give  to  him  who  is  gone  that  which  I  gave  to 
you !  When  we  first  met  I  was  your  foe.  I  hated  you  with  all 
the  hate  which  a  Roman  has  for  the  despoiler  of  his  lands. 
When  I  gave  you  my  love,  —  which,  alas,  was  not  mine  to 
give,  I  did  so,  a  powerless  instrument  of  Fate.  Side  by  side 
have  we  trod  life's  narrow  path,  —  neither  of  us  could  turn 
to  right  or  left  without  standing  accounted  to  the  other.  It 
was  not  ours  to  say  love  this  one  or  that  other.  We  were 
brought  together  by  that  same  mysterious  force,  to  which  it  is 
vain  to  cry  halt.  We  knew,  —  I  knew,  —  that  it  must, 
sooner  or  later,  carry  us  to  doom  and  death;  but  resistlessly 
the  whirlwind  had  taken  us  up  in  its  glistening  cloud:  Thus 
are  we  lost;  —  you  and  I!  " 

He  listened  to  her  with  a  great  fear  hi  his  soul. 

"  How  cold  your  hands  are,  my  love,"  he  whispered.  "  Cold 
as  if  the  flow  of  blood  had  ceased.  Can  you  feel  how  it  rushes 
through  my  veins,  —  so  hot  —  so  boiling  hot  ?  " 

"  You  have  the  fever !  Therefore  my  hands  appear  cold  to 

441 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

you.  But,  —  you  spoke  truly,  —  in  my  hand  is  death,  —  and 
death  is  cold!  Life  I  have  none,  —  you  have  taken  it  from 
me!" 

"Stephania!" 

It  sounded  like  the  last  outcry  of  a  broken  heart. 

"  Why  recall  that  which  could  not  be  averted  ?  Were  it 
mine  to  change  it,  oh,  that  I  could ! " 

"  Do  you  really  wish  it  ?  " 

"  I  wish  but  your  happiness.    Can  you  doubt  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  doubt.     I  love  you!  " 

"  Stephania  —  my  darling,  —  my  all!  " 

And  he  kissed  her  eyes,  her  lips,  her  hair,  and  she  suffered 
his  caresses  as  one  wrapt  hi  a  blissful  dream. 

"  I  learned  you  were  stricken  with  the  fever,  —  the  last 
defence  left  to  us  by  nature  against  our  foes.  I  have  come,  to 
watch  over  you,  to  care  for  you,  —  to  nurse  you  back  to 
health,  —  to  life  —  " 

"  And  you  braved  the  dangers  that  beset  your  path  on  every 
turn  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  fear,  —  with  such  love  hi  my  heart  for 
you ! " 

"  Then  you  —  will  remain  ?  "  he  whispered,  his  very  life  in 
his  eyes. 

"  For  a  time,"  she  answered,  hi  a  halting  tone,  which  passed 
not  unremarked. 

"  And  then  ?  "  he  queried. 

Her  head  sank. 

"  I  know  not!  " 

"  Then  I  will  tell  you,  my  own  love !  We  will  return  to 
Rome  together,  you  and  I;  Stephania,  the  empress  of  the 
West,  —  would  not  that  reconcile  your  Romans,  —  appease 
their  hate  ?  " 

Stephania  gazed  for  a  moment  thoughtfully  at  Otto,  then 
she  shook  her  head. 

442 


MEMORIES 

"  I  fear,"  she  replied  after  a  pause,  "  we  shall  nevermore 
return  to  Rome." 

As  she  spoke,  her  soft  fingers  stroked  caressingly  the  youth's 
head,  which  rested  on  her  bosom,  while  her  right  hand  remained 
tightly  clasped  hi  his. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  he  said  with  a  pained  look. 

"  Do  not  let  us  speak  of  it  now,"  she  replied.  "  You  are 
ill;  — the  fever  burns  in  your  blood.  It  likes  you  well,  this 
Roman  fever,  —  and  yet  you  persist  hi  returning  hither  ever 
and  ever,  —  as  to  your  destiny  —  " 

"  You  are  my  destiny,  Stephania!  I  cannot  live  without 
you!  Had  you  not  come,  I  should  have  died!  God,  you 
cannot  know  how  I  love  you,  how  I  worship  you,  how  I  wor 
ship  the  very  air  you  breathe.  Stephania!  On  that  terrible, 
never-to-be-forgotten  day,  when  your  words  planted  death  hi 
my  heart,  he,  who  of  all  my  Saxons  hates  you  with  a  hatred 
strong  and  enduring  as  death,  warned  me  of  you!  '  Must  you 
love  a  Roman,'  he  said  to  me  — '  and  of  all  Romans,  Stephania, 
the  wife  of  the  Senator  ?  Once  in  the  toils  of  the  Sorceress, 
you  are  lost!  Nothing  can  save  you.'  —  Can  I  say  to  my 
heart,  you  shall  love  this  one,  —  or  you  shall  not  love  this  one  ? 
Shall  I  say  to  my  soul,  you  shall  harbour  the  image  of  this 
one,  but  that  other  shall  be  to  you  even  as  a  barred  Eden, 
guarded  by  the  angel  with  the  naming  sword  ?  I  have  seen  the 
maidens  of  my  native  land ;  I  have  seen  the  women  of  Rome ;  — 
but  my  heart  was  never  touched  until  we  met.  My  soul  leaped 
forth  to  meet  your  own,  when  first  we  stood  face  to  face  in 
the  chapel  of  the  Confessor.  Stephania,  —  my  love  for  you 
is  so  great  that  I  fear  you." 

"  And  why  should  you  fear  me  ?  Were  I  here,  did  I  not  love 
you  ?  " 

"  My  life  has  been  a  wondrous  one,"  he  spoke  after  a 
pause.  "  From  dazzling  sun-kissed  heights  I  have  been 
hurled  into  the  blackest  abyss  of  despair.  And  what  is  my 

443 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

crime  ?  Wherein  have  I  sinned  ?  I  have  loved  a  woman, 
—  a  woman  wondrous  fair,  —  Stephania !  " 

"  You  have  loved  the  wife  of  the  Senator  of  Rome ! " 

His  eyes  drooped.     For  a  time  neither  spoke. 

"  Thrice  have  I  crossed  the  Alps,  to  see,  to  rule  this  fabled 
land,  —  and  now  I  want  but  rest,  —  peace,  —  Stephania — " 
he  said  with  a  heart-breaking  smile. 

"  You  are  tired,  my  love,"  replied  the  beautiful  Roman. 
"  From  this  hour,  I  shall  be  your  leech,  —  I  shall  be  with  you, 
to  share  your  solitude,  —  to  watch  over  you  till  the  dread 
fever  is  broken.  And  then  —  " 

"  And  then  ?  "  he  repeated  with  anxious  look. 

"  But  will  you  not  weary  of  me  ?  "  she  said,  avoiding  the 
question. 

He  drew  her  close  to  him. 

"  My  sweetheart  —  my  own  —  " 

"  And  you  will  not  fear,  you  will  trust  and  obey  me  ?  " 

"  Were  you  to  give  me  poison  with  your  own  hands,  I  would 
drain  the  goblet  without  fear  or  doubt." 

Stephania  had  arisen.     She  was  pale  as  death. 

"  If  love  were  all!  "  she  muttered.    "  If  love  were  all !  " 

Then  she  drew  the  curtains  closer  and  extinguished  the  light. 


444 


CHAPTER  III 


THE   CONSUMMATION 

OME  weeks  had  elapsed  since 
Otto's  arrival  at  Paterno.  But 
the  fever  which  consumed  the 
son  of  Theophano  had  not 
yielded  to  the  skill  of  the  monk 
ish  mediciners,  though  a  change 
for  the  better  had  been  noticed 
after  the  first  night  of  the  King's 
arrival.  But  it  lasted  only  a 
short  time  and  all  the  danger 
symptoms  returned  anew.  The  monks  shook  their  heads  and 
the  hooded  disciples  of  Aesculapius  conversed  hi  hushed 
whispers,  regarding  the  strange  ailment,  which  would  not 
cede  before  their  antidotes.  But  they  continued  their  un 
availing  efforts  to  save  the  life  of  the  last  of  the  glorious 
Saxon  dynasty,  the  grandson  of  the  vanquisher  of  the  Magyars, 
the  son  of  the  vanquisher  of  the  Saracens. 
It  was  a  bleak  December  evening. 

At  sunset  a  mist  rose  from  the  fields  and  the  clouds  grew 
heavier  with  every  hour.  The  ram-drops  hung  on  the  branches 
of  the  plane-trees,  until  an  occasional  stir  sent  them  pattering 
down. 

Otto  lay  within,  asleep. 

In  the  door-way  sat  Eckhardt,  muffled  in  a  cloak.  Near-by, 
half  recumbent  under  a  blanket,  the  cowl  drawn  over  his  face, 
sat  the  leech,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  log-fire  on  the  hearth,  as 
it  sent  showers  of  sparks  into  the  murky  darkness.  In  their 

445 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

search  for  fire-wood  the  monks  had  brought  from  the  edge  of 
a  neighbouring  mill-pond  the  debris  of  a  skiff,  whose  planks 
had  for  years  been  alternately  soaked  in  water  and  dried  hi  the 
sun.  When  tossed  upon  the  blaze  of  forest  branches,  these 
fragments  emitted  an  odour  sweet  as  oriental  spices  and  their 
flames  brightened  with  prismatic  tints.  But  to  the  leech's 
brooding  gaze  their  lurid  embers  seemed  touched  with  the 
spell  of  some  unholy  incantation. 

Without  the  sick-chamber  two  sentries,  chilled  and  drowsy, 
leaned  against  a  column  supporting  the  low  vaulting,  their 
halberds  clasped  between  their  folded  arms. 

After  a  pause  of  some  duration,  Eckhardt  arose  and  entering 
Otto's  chamber  bent  over  the  couch  on  which  he  lay.  After 
having  convinced  himself  by  the  youth's  regular  breathing 
that  he  was  resting  and  did  not  require  his  attendance,  the  Mar 
grave  strode  from  the  sick-chamber.  The  fever  was  inter 
mittent;  now  it  came,  now  it  left  the  youth's  body.  But  the 
pale  wan  face  and  the  sunken  eyes  gave  rise  to  the  gravest  fears. 

Night  came  swiftly  and  with  it  the  intense  hush  deepened. 
Only  the  pattering  of  ram-drops  broke  the  stillness.  In  the 
sick-chamber  nothing  was  to  be  heard  save  the  regular  breath 
ing  of  the  sleeper. 

Thus  the  hours  wore  on.  After  the  monk  and  Eckhardt  had 
departed  for  the  night,  the  secret  panel  opened  noiselessly  and 
Stephania  entered  the  apartment  with  a  strange  expression  of 
triumph  and  despair  in  her  look.  She  glanced  round,  but  her 
eyes  passed  unheedingly  over  their  surroundings ;  she  saw  only 
that  there  was  no  one  hi  the  chamber,  that  no  one  had  seen 
her  enter.  There  was  something  utterly  desperate  in  that 
glance.  Noiselessly  she  stepped  to  the  narrow  oval  window 
gazing  out  into  the  mist-veiled  landscape. 

But  it  seemed  without  consciousness. 

A  single  thought  seemed  to  have  frozen  her  brain. 

She  stepped  to  Otto's  couch  and  for  a  moment  bent  over  him. 

446 


THE    CONSUMMATION 

Then  she  retreated,  as  if  seized  with  a  secret  terror. 

For  a  few  moments  she  stood  behind  him,  with  closed  eyes, 
her  face  almost  stony  with  dread  and  the  fear  of  something 
unknown. 

Near  the  bed  there  stood  a  pitcher  which  the  monks  re 
plenished  every  evening  with  water  cold  from  a  mountain 
spring.  Approaching  it,  she  took  a  powder  from  her  bosom 
and  shook  it  into  it,  every  gram.  Then  she  turned  the  pitcher 
round  and  round,  to  mix  the  fine  powder,  which  stood  on  the 
surface.  Suddenly  she  started,  and  set  it  down,  while  scalding 
tears  slowly  coursed  down  her  pale  cheeks.  Desperate  thoughts 
crowded  thickly  on  her  brain,  as  her  stony  gaze  was  riveted  on 
the  water,  whose  crystal  clearness  had  not  been  clouded  by 
the  subtle  poison. 

"  Between  us  stands  the  shade  of  Crescentius,"  she  muttered. 
"  Still  I  can  not  cease  to  love  him,  —  each  bound  to  each,  — 
together,  yet  perpetually  divided,  —  our  love  a  flower  that  the 
hand  of  death  will  gather." 

Again  there  was  a  long,  intense  hush.  She  crept  to  Otto's 
bed  and  knelt  down  by  his  side,  hiding  her  wet  face  on  her 
bare  arms. 

"  When  he  is  dead,"  she  continued  speaking  softly,  so  as 
not  to  wake  him,  "  the  unpardonable  sin  will  be  condoned. — 
Otto,  Otto,  —  how  I  love  you,  —  if  I  loved  you  less,  —  you 
might  live  —  " 

At  these  words  he  stirred  in  the  cushions.  A  deep  sigh 
came  from  his  lips,  as  if  the  mountain  of  a  heavy  dream  had 
been  lifted  from  his  breast. 

She  drew  back  terrified,  but  noting  that  he  did  not  open  his 
eyes,  she  spoke  with  a  moan  of  weariness: 

"  How  often  thus  hi  my  dreams  have  I  seen  his  dead  face  —  " 

Again  she  bent  over  the  sleeper.  Now  she  could  not  discern 
a  breath.  A  strange  dread  seized  her,  and  her  face  became  as 
wan  and  haggard  as  that  of  the  fever-stricken  youth.  Obeying 

447 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

a  sudden  impulse  she  removed  the  pitcher  of  water,  placing  it 
hi  a  remote  niche.  Then  she  crept  back  to  Otto's  couch. 

"  Is  he  dead  ?  "  she  whispered,  as  if  seized  by  a  strange 
delirium.  "  Is  he  dead  ?  I  know  not,  —  yet  none  knows,  — 
but  I!  None,  —  but  I!" 

She  gave  a  start,  as  if  she  had  discovered  a  listener,  glanced 
wildly  about  the  room,  at  each  familiar  object  in  the  chamber, 
and  met  Otto's  eyes. 

She  raised  herself  with  a  gasp  of  terror,  as  he  grasped  her 
hand. 

"  Who  is  dead  ?  "  he  asked.  "  And  who  is  it,  that  alone 
knows  it  ?  " 

She  stroked  the  soft  fair  hair  from  his  clammy  brow. 

"  You  are  delirious,  my  love,"  she  whispered.  "  No  one  is 
dead;  —  you  have  been  dreaming." 

"  I  thought  I  heard  you  say  so,"  he  replied  wearily. 

The  horror  and  bewilderment  at  his  awakening  at  this 
moment  of  all,  when  she  required  all  her  strength  for  her 
purpose,  left  her  dazed  for  a  moment. 

The  clock  struck  the  second  hour  after  midnight.  The 
sound  cut  the  air  sharply,  like  a  stern  summons.  It  seemed  to 
demand :  Who  dares  to  watch  at  this  hour  of  death  ? 

Otto  had  again  closed  his  eyes.  Delirium  had  regained  its 
sway.  He  was  whispering,  while  his  fingers  scratched  on  the 
cover  of  his  couch,  as  if  he  were  preparing  his  own  grave. 

Again  he  relapsed  into  a  fitful  slumber,  filled  with  dreams 
and  visions  of  the  past. 

He  stands  at  the  banks  of  the  Rhine.  The  night  is  still.  The 
moon  is  hi  her  zenith,  her  yellow  radiance  reflected  in  the  calm 
majestic  tide  of  the  river.  He  hears  the  sighing,  droning 
swish  of  the  waters;  the  sinuous  dream-like  murmuring  of 
the  waves  resolving  into  tinkling  chimes,  far-away  and  plain 
tive,  that  steal  up  to  him  in  the  moon  mists,  ravishing  his 
soul.  In  cadenced,  languorous  rhythm  the  song  of  the  Rhine- 

448 


THE    CONSUMMATION 

daughters  weeps  and  wooes  through  the  night;  their  shim 
mering  bodies  gleam  from  the  waters  in  a  silvery  sphere  of 
light;  they  seem  to  beckon  to  him  —  to  call  to  him  —  to 
lure  him  back  — 

"  Home!  Home!  "  he  cries  from  the  depths  of  his  dream; 
then  his  voice  becomes  inarticulate  and  sinks  into  silence. 

New  phantoms  crowded  each  other,  a  shifting  phantas 
magoria  of  the  very  beings  who  at  that  dreadful  hour  were 
most  vividly  fixed  in  his  mind.  And  among  them  stood  out 
the  image  of  the  woman,  who  was  kneeling  at  his  side,  the 
woman  he  loved  above  all  women  on  earth.  Again  his  lips 
moved.  He  called  her  by  name,  with  passionate  words  of  love. 

"  Let  me  not  die  thus,  Stephania !  Leave  me  not  in  this 
dreary  abyss!  Oh!  Drive  away  those  infernal  spectres  that 
stare  in  my  face,"  and  his  words  became  wild  and  confused, 
as  all  these  phantoms  seemed  to  rush  on  him  together,  forming 
lurid  groups,  flaming  and  tremulous,  like  prolonged  flashes  of 
lightning,  but  growing  fainter  and  fainter  as  they  died  away, 
when  every  faculty  of  the  young  sufferer  seemed  utterly  sus 
pended. 

Dark  clouds  passed  over  the  moon. 

The  wind  blew  in  fierce  gusts,  howling  like  an  imprisoned 
beast  between  the  chinks  of  the  wall.  Then  the  night  relapsed 
once  more  into  silence,  and  in  intermittent  pauses  large  drops 
of  rain  could  be  heard,  splashing  from  the  height  of  the  roof 
upon  the  ringing  flagstones.  To  Stephania's  listening  ear 
it  seemed  like  a  dreadful  pacing  to  and  fro  of  spirits  meditating 
on  the  past.  She  dragged  herself  to  a  seat  in  a  recess  of  the 
wall,  whence  she  could  watch  the  sufferer  and  minister  to  his 
wants. 

Another  fit  of  delirium  seized  Otto.  Restlessly  he  tossed  on 
his  pillows.  Again  a  dream  murmured  his  own  impending 
fate  into  his  ears. 

Again  he  is  in  Aix-la-Chapelle.  Again  he  beholds  Charle- 

449 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

magne  seated  erect  in  his  chair  as  in  that  memorable  night 
when  he  visited  the  dead  emperor  in  the  crypts.  He  touches 
the  imperial  vestments;  the  crown  glitters  hi  the  smoky  flare 
of  the  torches.  But  through  the  heavy  Arabian  perfumes  of 
the  emperor's  fantastic  shroud  penetrates  the  odour  of  the 
corpse. 

The  night  wore  on. 

Recovering  consciousness,  Otto  knew  by  the  dying  candle, 
by  the  strokes  of  the  clocks  from  adjacent  cloisters,  that  hours 
had  passed  into  eternity,  and  that  it  was  long  past  midnight. 
It  was  very  still.  The  tread  of  the  sentries  was  no  longer 
heard.  Through  the  window  were  seen  pale  blue  flashes  of 
lightning  hi  a  remote  cloudbank,  as  on  that  memorable  night 
hi  the  temple  of  Neptune  at  Rome.  The  dull  rumbling  of  dis 
tant  thunder  seemed  to  come  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 

His  head  ached,  his  mouth  was  parched,  thirst  tormented 
him.  He  dimly  remembered  the  pitcher  of  water.  Who  had 
removed  it  ?  Why  had  it  been  taken  away  ?  He  tried  to  rise, 
to  drag  himself  to  the  wall,  but  his  strength  was  not  equal  to 
the  task.  He  fell  back  hi  the  cushions  where  for  a  time  he  lay 
motionless.  Then  a  moan  broke  from  his  lips,  which  startled 
the  figure  seated  by  the  bed.  Opening  his  eyes  Otto  gazed  into 
the  pale  face  of  Stephania.  She  started  up  with  a  low  cry,  — 
as  from  a  trance.  Waking  and  watching  had  benumbed  her 
senses. 

Now  from  her  own  suffering  she  lifted  to  Otto  her  face, 
wherein  was  reflected  the  great  love  she  bore  him. 

He  looked  at  her  with  all  the  love  of  his  soul  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  am  dying,"  he  spoke  calmly,  "  I  know  it." 

An  outcry  of  mortal  anguish  broke  from  her  lips. 

"  No,  no,  no !  "  she  moaned,  entwining  him  with  her  arms. 
"Otto,  my  love  —  you  will  live,  —  live  —  live —  Can  you 
fancy  us  parted,"  she  sobbed,  "  one  from  the  other  for  ever  ? 
Or  can  you  go  from  me  and  leave  me  to  the  great  loneliness  of 

450 


THE    CONSUMMATION 

the  world  ?  To  me  all  on  earth,  but  you,  seems  a  fleeting 
shadow;  but  hi  this  hour,  I  think  only  of  the  greater  pang  of 
my  own  fate,  and  pray  that  in  another  world  I  may  be  judged 
more  mercifully,  —  even  by  you." 

For  some  moments  they  remained  locked  hi  close  embrace. 

"  Kiss  me !  "  he  whispered  hungrily.    "  Kiss  me,  Stephania ! " 

She  drew  back. 

"  My  kisses  are  cold,  Otto,  cold  as  those  of  a  dead  love." 

"  Kiss  me,  Stephania,"  he  moaned,  "  kiss  me,  even  if  your 
kisses  were  death  itself." 

She  breathed  hard,  as  he  held  to  her  with  all  his  might. 

"  A  dead  hand  is  drawing  me  downward,  hold  me  up, 
Otto!  "  she  gasped.  "  Hold  me  up!  Do  not  let  me  go!  Do 
not  let  me  go !  " 

And  she  kissed  him,  until  he  was  almost  delirious,  drawing 
him  close  to  her  heart. 

"Now  you  are  mine  —  mine  —  mine!"  she  whispered, 
kissing  him  again  and  again,  while  his  fingers  were  buried  hi 
the  soft,  silken  wealth  of  her  hair. 

"The  hour  is  brief,  —  life  is  short  and  uncertain  —  oh, 
let  the  hour  be  ours !    Let  us  drain  the  glittering  goblet  to  the 
dregs!    Then  we  may  cast  it  from  us  and  say  we  have  been 
happy !    Death  has  no  terror  for  us !    I  am  thirsty,  Stephania,  — 
give  me  the  pitcher." 

She  trembled  in  every  limb. 

"  Do  not  let  me  go!  Hold  me,  Otto,  —  do  not  let  me  go!  " 
she  almost  shrieked,  entwining  him  so  tightly  with  her  arms 
that  he  could  scarcely  breathe. 

"I  feel  the  fever  returning  —  the  water  —  Stephania  —  " 

"  Do  not  let  me  go !  "  she  begged  with  mortal  dread. 

"  I  am  burning  up." 

He  struggled  hi  her  arms  to  rise,  gasping: 

"Water  —  Water!" 

And  he  pointed  to  the  niche,  where  he  had  espied  the  pitcher. 

45i 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

She  almost  dropped  him,  as  raising  himself  he  pushed  her 
from  him.  Her  head  swam  giddily  and  she  felt  a  feebleness  in 
all  her  limbs;  shudders  of  icy  cold  ran  through  her,  followed 
by  waves  of  heat,  that  sickened  and  suffocated  her.  But 
she  paid  little  heed  to  these  sensations.  Stephania  felt  death 
in  her  heart,  she  strove  to  sustain  herself,  but  failing  in  the 
effort,  fell  moaning  across  his  couch. 

Otto  had  fallen  back  on  his  pillows  with  eyes  closed.  He 
was  spared  the  sight  of  the  terrible  agony  of  the  woman  he 
loved.  At  last  she  clutched  the  pitcher  and  staggering  feebly 
forward,  step  by  step,  she  pushed  back  her  hair  from  her 
brows  and  softly  called  his  name. 

He  opened  his  eyes,  but  did  not  speak. 

Trembling  hi  every  limb  she  bent  over  him  and  placing  one 
hand  under  his  head  raised  him  to  a  sitting  posture,  glancing 
fear-struck  round  the  chamber.  She  thought  she  had  heard 
the  tread  of  approaching  steps. 

Greedily  Otto  grasped  the  vessel,  pressing  his  hot  hands 
over  the  woman's  which  held  it  to  his  lips.  Greedily  he  drank 
the  poisoned  beverage,  while  a  heart-breaking  moan  came  from 
Stephania's  lips.  He  heard  it  not.  He  sank  back  into  the 
cushions,  while  she  knelt  down  by  his  side,  weeping  as  if  her 
heart  would  break. 

The  Senator  of  Rome  was  avenged. 

Avenged  ?  On  whom  ?  Whose  tortures  were  the  greater, 
if  a  spirit  still  possessed  the  power  to  suffer  ?  Alas !  It  was 
not  the  death  of  her  lord  and  husband  she  had  avenged!  She 
had  sacrificed  the  love  which  filled  her  heart  to  the  Infernals! 

While  these  reflections  were  whirling  through  her  maddened 
brain,  the  fatal  poison  was  coursing  serpent-like  through 
Otto's  veins,  and  creeping  to  his  head.  For  a  time  he  lay  still; 
then  he  began  to  move  uneasily  in  his  pillows,  his  breathing 
became  laboured,  he  beat  the  covers  with  his  hands.  Then  he 
moaned,  as  in  the  last  agony,  and  Stephania,  to  whom  every 

452 


THE    CONSUMMATION 

sound  of  suffering  from  his  lips  was  as  a  thousand  deaths, 
knelt  by  his  side,  unable  to  avert  her  gaze  from  the  youth, 
dying  by  the  hand  he  loved  and  trusted. 

Fixedly  she  stared  at  the  inert  form  on  the  bed.  Then  only 
the  full  realization  of  her  deed  seemed  to  burst  upon  her  brain. 
She  clutched  despairingly  at  the  cover,  beneath  which  lay  his 
restless  form,  his  face  averted,  the  face  she  so  loved,  yet  feared, 
to  see. 

"  Otto!  "  she  moaned,  "  Otto!  " 

Her  voice  broke.  She  suddenly  withdrew  her  hands  and 
looked  at  them  in  horror,  those  white,  beautiful  hands,  that  had 
mixed  the  fatal  draught.  Then  with  a  bewildered,  vacant 
smile  she  beamed  on  her  victim. 

Otto  had  lost  consciousness.  Nothing  stirred  in  the  chamber. 
Profound  silence  reigned  unbroken,  save  for  the  slow  chime  of 
a  distant  bell,  tolling  the  hour. 

Was  he  dead  ?  Had  the  light  of  the  eyes,  she  loved  so  well, 
gone  out  for  ever  ? 

Her  hand  hovered  fearfully  above  him,  as  if  to  drive  away 
the  grim  spectre  of  death.  At  last,  nerving  herself  with  a 
supreme  effort,  she  touched  with  trembling  hand  the  cover 
that  hid  him  from  view.  Lifting  it  tearfully,  she  turned  it 
back  softly,  —  softly,  murmuring  his  name  all  the  time. 

Then  she  stooped  down  close,  and  closer  yet.  Her  red  lips 
touched  the  purple  ones;  she  stroked  the  damp  and  clammy 
brow,  and  thrust  her  fingers  into  his  soft  hair.  A  moan  came 
from  his  lips.  Then,  fastening  her  white  robe  more  securely 
about  her,  and  stepping  heedfully  on  tip-toe,  she  passed  out 
of  the  chamber.  With  uncertain  step  she  glided  along  the 
corridor,  a  ghostly  figure,  with  a  white,  spectral  face  and 
fevered  eyes.  At  the  foot  of  the  spiral  stairway  she  paused, 
gazing  eagerly  around. 

Stepping  to  a  low  casement  she  peered  into  the  night. 
Flickering  lights  and  shadows  played  without;  the  late  moon 

453 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

had  disappeared,  leaving  but  a  silvery  trail  upon  the  sky,  to 
faintly  mark  her  recent  passage  among  the  stars.  Everything 
was  still.  Only  the  plaintive  cry  of  an  owl  echoed  from  afar. 
Her  sandalled  feet  sounded  on  the  stone-paved  floor,  like  the 
soft  pattering  of  falling  leaves  hi  autumn.  Unsteadily  she 
moved  along  the  gray  discoloured  wall  towards  the  secret 
panel,  known  but  to  herself.  Soon  her  perplexed  wandering 
gaze  found  what  it  sought,  and  Stephania  disappeared,  as  if 
the  stones  had  receded  to  receive  her. 


454 


CHAPTER  IV 


THE   ANGEL   OF  THE  AGONY 


HE  morning  of  the  following 
day  broke  hazy  and  threatening. 
But  as  the  hours  wore  on,  the 
sky,  which  had  been  overcast, 
brightened  slowly  and  in  that 
instant's  change  the  earth  be 
came  covered  with  a  radiance 
of  sunshine  and  the  heavens 
seemed  filled  with  ineffable 
peace. 

It  was  late  in  the  day,  when  Otto  woke  from  his  lethargy. 
Hour  after  hour  he  had  raved  without  recovering  conscious 
ness.  His  breathing  grew  weaker.  He  was  thought  to  be  hi  his 
last  agony.  Little  by  little  the  vigour  of  his  youth  had  reasserted 
itself,  little  by  little  he  had  opened  his  eyes.  His  sight  had 
become  dimmed  from  the  effects  of  the  poison,  and  his  reason 
seemed  to  sway  and  to  totter;  the  fevered  flow  of  blood,  the  wild 
beating  of  his  temples,  caused  everything  around  him  to  scintil 
late  in  a  crimson  haze  and  flit  before  his  vision  with  fitful 
dazzling  gleams.  But  his  eyes  seemed  fixed  steadily  hi  a  remote 
recess  of  the  room. 

Those  surrounding  his  couch  had  believed  him  nearing 
dissolution,  and  when  he  opened  his  eyes,  Otto  looked  upon 
the  faces  of  those  who  had  guided  his  steps  ever  since  he  set 
his  foot  upon  Italian  soil,  Eckhardt,  Count  Tammus,  and 
Sylvester,  the  silver-haired  pontiff  who  had  come  from  Rome. 
Their  faces  told  him  the  worst.  He  attempted  to  raise  himself 

455 


THE   SORCERESS   OF   ROME 

in  his  cushions,  but  his  strength  failed  him,  and  he  fell  heavily 
back.  Anew  his  ideas  became  confused  and  his  gaze  resumed 
its  former  fixedness. 

His  lips  moved  and  Eckhardt,  who  bent  over  him,  to  listen, 
turned  white  with  rage. 

"  Again  her  accursed  name,"  he  growled,  turning  to  the 
monk  by  his  side. 

"  Stephania  —  where  is  Stephania  ?  "  moaned  the  dying 
youth. 

A  voice  almost  a  shriek  rent  the  silence. 

"  I  am  here,  —  Otto,  —  I  am  here !  " 

A  shadow  passed  before  the  eyes  of  the  amazed  visitors  in 
the  sick-chamber,  a  shadow  which  seemed  to  come  out  of  the 
wall  itself,  and  the  wife  of  the  Senator  of  Rome  staggered 
towards  Otto's  couch,  who  made  a  feeble  effort  to  stretch  out 
his  hands  toward  her.  He  could  not  raise  them.  They  were 
like  lead.  She  rushed  to  his  side,  ere  Eckhardt  could  prevent, 
and  with  a  sob  fell  down  before  the  couch  and  grasped  them 
tightly  hi  her  own. 

The  petrified  amazement,  which  had  pictured  itself  hi  the 
features  of  those  assembled,  at  the  unexpected  apparition, 
gave  vent  to  a  flurry  of  whispers  and  conjectures  during  which 
Eckhardt,  with  face  drawn  and  white  and  haggard,  had  rushed 
through  the  outer  chamber  to  the  door. 

"  Guards!  "  he  thundered,  "  Guards!  " 

Two  spearmen  appeared  hi  the  doorway. 

"  Seize  this  woman  and  throw  her  over  the  ramparts !  " 
the  Margrave  said  with  a  voice  whose  calm  formed  a  fearful 
contrast  to  the  blazing  fury  in  his  eyes. 

The  men-at-arms  approached  with  hesitation,  but  Sylvester 
barred  their  progress  with  uplifted  arm. 

"  Vengeance  is  the  Lord's!  "  he  turned  to  Eckhardt,  whose 
eyes,  aflame  with  wrath,  seemed  the  only  living  thing  hi  his 
stony  face. 

456 


THE   ANGEL   OF   THE   AGONY 

A  terrible  laugh  broke  from  the  Margrave's  lips. 

"  His  mad  pleadings  saved  her  once !  Now,  all  the  angels 
hi  heaven  and  demons  hi  hell  combined  shall  not  save  her 
from  her  doom !  "  he  replied  to  the  Pontiff.  "  Seize  her,  my 
men!  She  has  killed  your  king!  Over  the  ramparts  with 
her!" 

They  dared  deny  obedience  no  longer.  Approaching  the 
couch  they  laid  hands  on  the  kneeling  woman.  But  the  sight 
of  violence  for  a  moment  so  incensed  the  prostrate  form  in  the 
cushions,  that  he  started  up,  as  he  had  done  hi  the  vigour  of 
his  health. 

With  eyes  glowing  with  fever  and  wrath,  Otto  leaped  from 
the  bed,  planting  himself  before  the  prostrate  form  of  the 
woman. 

"  Back !  "  he  cried.  "  The  first  who  lays  hand  on  her  dies 
by  my  hand,  a  traitor!  Down  on  your  knees  before  the  Em 
press  of  the  Romans !  " 

Terror  and  amazement  accomplished  Stephania's  salvation. 

Even  Eckhardt  was  stunned.  He  knelt  with  the  rest  with 
averted  face. 

"Leave  the  room!"  Otto  turned  to  the  men-at-arms,  and 
with  heads  bowed  down  they  strode  from  the  sick  chamber  and 
resumed  their  watch  outside.  What  did  it  all  mean  ?  The 
presence  of  the  Senator's  wife  at  their  sovereign's  bedside, 
Eckhardt's  contradictory  demeanour,  Otto's  strange  words; 
mystified  they  shook  their  heads,  glad  the  terrible  task  had 
been  spared  them. 

Otto's  exertion  was  followed  by  a  complete  collapse,  and 
he  fell  back  hi  a  swoon.  After  a  time  he  seemed  to  rally.  With 
out  assistance  he  sat  up  straight  and  rigid,  and  turned  towards 
the  woman,  whose  wan  face  and  sunken  eyes  made  her  fatal 
beauty  all  the  more  terrible. 

"  Tell  me  —  shall  I  live  till  night  ?  "  he  whispered. 

And  as  she  hid  her  face  from  him  with  a  sob,  he  continued : 

457 


THE   SORCERESS    OF   ROME 

"  Do  not  deceive  me !     I  am  not  afraid !  " 

His  voice  broke.  Every  one  in  the  room  knelt  down  weeping. 
Sylvester  tried  to  answer,  but  in  vain.  Hiding  his  face  in  his 
hands,  the  pontiff  sobbed  aloud. 

"Softly  —  softly — "  Otto  whispered  to  Stephania,  then 
turning  towards  the  sky  he  whispered: 

"How  beautiful!" 

The  morning  clouds  were  growing  rosy;  the  twilight  had 
become  warm  and  mellow.  The  first  beam  of  the  sun  appeared 
over  the  rim  of  the  horizon.  The  dying  youth  held  his  face 
with  closed  eyes  towards  the  light.  A  f  aint  shiver  ran  through 
his  body  and  with  a  last  effort  he  stretched  out  his  arms,  as  if 
he  would  have  rushed  to  meet  the  rising  orb. 

Suddenly  he  was  seized  by  a  convulsion;  the  veins  swelled 
on  neck  and  temples. 

"  Water  —  water !  "  he  gasped  choking. 

Stephania  knew  the  symptoms.  Pale  as  death  she  stag 
gered  to  her  feet,  filled  a  cup  with  clear  spring  water  and  held 
it  to  his  lips. 

Otto,  grasping  her  hand  with  the  cup,  drank  thirstily  from 
the  ice-cold  draught. 

Then  his  head  fell  back.  A  last  murmur  came  from  his 
half -open  lips: 

"  Stephania,  —  Stephania  —  " 

Then  his  life  went  out.  With  a  moan  of  heart-rending 
anguish  she  closed  his  eyes.  The  face  of  the  youth, 
kissed  by  the  early  rays  of  the  December  sun,  took  on 
a  look  as  of  one  sleeping.  His  soul,  freed  from  earthly  love, 
had  entered  on  its  eternal  repose. 

Johannes  Crescentius  was  avenged. 

Eckhardt  had  watched  the  last  moments  of  his  king.  In 
the  awful  presence  of  Death,  he  had  restrained  a  new  out 
burst  of  passion  against  the  woman,  who  had  so  utterly  made 
that  dead  youth  her  own.  But  he  had  sworn  a  terrible  oath 

458 


THE   ANGEL   OF   THE   AGONY 

to  himself,  that  she  should  pay  the  penalty,  if  that  life  went 
out,  —  it  would  be  cancelling  the  last  debt  he  owed  on  the 
accursed  Roman  soil. 

And  no  sooner  had  the  light  faded  from  Otto's  eyes,  no 
sooner  had  they  been  closed  under  the  soft  touch  of  Stephania's 
hand,  than  Eckhardt  rushed  anew  to  the  door  and  the  terrible 
voice  of  the  Margrave  thundered  through  the  stillness  of  the 
death-chamber : 

"  Guards !  Throw  this  woman  over  the  ramparts !  She  has 
killed  your  King !  " 

Again  the  guards  rushed  into  the  chamber.  The  terrible 
denunciation  had  stirred  their  zeal.  Stephania,  kneeling  by 
Otto's  couch,  never  stirred,  but  as  the  men-at-arms,  over-awed 
by  the  spectacle  that  met  their  gaze,  paused  for  a  moment, 
the  sound  of  falling  crystal,  breaking  on  the  floor,  startled  the 
silver-haired  pontiff. 

He  had  seen  enough. 

Stepping  between  Stephania  and  her  would-be  slayers  he 
waved  them  back. 

Then  he  picked  up  a  fragment  of  the  empty  flask. 

"  This  phial,  "  he  spoke  to  Eckhardt, "  is  of  the  same  shape 
and  size  as  one  discovered  in  a  witch's  grave,  when  they 
were  digging  the  foundations  for  the  monastery  of  St. 
Jerome !  " 

And  he  strode  towards  the  woman  and  laid  his  hands  on  her 
head. 

"  She  will  soon  answer  before  a  higher  tribunal,"  said  the 
monk  of  Aurillac. 

"  Father,"  she  whispered,  holding  the  hands  of  the  corpse 
in  her  own,  while  her  head  rested  on  her  arms,  —  "I  cannot 
see,  —  stoop  down,  —  and  let  me  whisper  —  " 

"  I  am  here,  daughter,  close  —  quite  close  to  you." 

He  inclined  his  ear  to  her  mouth  and  listened.  But  though 
her  lips  moved,  no  words  would  come. 

459 


THE   SORCERESS    OF    ROME 

After  a  moment  or  two  of  intense  stillness,  she  whispered, 
raising  her  head. 

"It  is  bright  again !  They  are  calling  me !  We  will  go 
together  to  that  far,  distant  land  of  peace.  I  am  with  you, 
Otto  —  hold  me  up,  I  cannot  breathe  —  " 

Gently  Sylvester  lifted  her  head. 

"  Otto,  —  my  own  love  —  forgive  —  "  she  gasped.  A  con 
vulsive  shudder  passed  through  her  body  and  she  fell  lifeless 
over  the  dead  body  of  her  victim. 

Stephania's  proud  spirit  had  flown. 

Sylvester  muttered  the  prayer  for  the  departed,  and  staggered 
to  his  feet. 

Eckhardt  pointed  to  her  lifeless  clay.  In  his  livid  face  burnt 
relentless,  unforgiving  wrath. 

"  Throw  that  woman  over  the  ramparts !  "  he  turned  to  his 
men.  "  She  shall  not  have  Christian  burial !  " 

Anew  Sylvester  intervened. 

"  Back !  "  he  commanded  the  guards.    "  Judge  not,  —  that 
ye  may  not  be  judged.     What  has  passed  between  those  two  — 
lies  beyond  the  pale  of  human  ken.    He  alone,  who  has  called, 
has  the  right  to  judge  them!    She  died  absolved.— May  God 
have  mercy  on  her  soul !  " 

As  weeping  those  present  turned  to  leave  the  death-chamber, 
Eckhardt  bent  over  the  still,  dead  face  of  Otto. 

"  I  will  hold  the  death-watch,"  he  turned  to  Sylvester. 
"  Have  the  bier  prepared !  To-morrow  at  dawn  we  start. 
We  return  to  our  Saxon-land,  —  we  go  back  across  the  Alps. 
In  the  crypts  of  Aix-la-Chapelle  the  grandson  of  the  great 
Otto  shall  rest ;  he  shall  sleep  by  the  side  of  the  great  emperor, 
whom  he  visited  ere  he  came  hither;  Charlemagne's  phantom 
has  claimed  him  at  last.  Rome  shall  not  have  a  lock  of  his 
hair!" 

"  As  you  say  —  so  shall  it  be!  "  replied  Sylvester,  his  gaze 
turning  from  Otto  to  the  lifeless  clay  of  Stephania. 

460 


THE   ANGEL   OF   THE   AGONY 

Softly  he  raised  her  dead  body  and  laid  it  side  by  side  with 
that  of  Theophano's  son,  joining  their  hands. 

"  Though  they  shall  sleep  apart  in  distant  lands,  their  souls 
are  one  hi  the  great  beyond,  that  holds  no  mysteries  for  the 
departed." 

From  the  chapel  of  the  cloister  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  stealing 
through  the  solemn  stillness  of  the  December  morning,  came 
the  chant  of  the  monks: 

.  v/i  u_i\,  _^,juLiic  and  the 


461 


CHAPTER  V 


RETURN 

HE    Eve    of    the    Millennium 

.  ,  •  1         *     +he    threshold    of 

/I  spint  had  flown. 

:d  the  prayer  for  the  dep        c      -A    •  4 

^in  of  midwinter 

..v.^  -——b  ^u  his  early  rays 
filled  the  blue  balconies  of  the 
East  with  curtains  of  gold. 
From  the  slopes  of  Paterno  a 
strange  procession  was  to  be 
seen  winding  its  way  down  into 
the  plains  below.  It  was  the  remnant  of  the  German  host, 
carrying  the  bier  with  the  body  of  the  third  Otto  towards  its 
distant,  final  resting-place.  Eckhardt  and  Haco  jointly  headed 
the  mournful  cortege,  which  after  reaching  the  plain,  entered 
the  northern  road.  Behind  them  lay  Civita  Castellana,  the 
walls  of  the  ancient  citadel  towering  high  above  the  town, 
which  lay  hi  the  centre  of  a  net-work  of  deep  ravines.  To  their 
right  the  Sabine  hills  extended  in  long,  airy  lines  and  the 
wooded  heights  of  Pellachio  and  San  Gennaro  rose  to  the  south 
east.  Before  them  Viterbo  with  her  hundred  towers  lay  dark 
and  frowning  inside  her  bristling  walls;  and  to  northward, 
surmounted  by  its  mighty  cathedral  dome,  on  a  conical  bill, 
above  the  great  lake  of  Bolsena,  the  gray  town  of  Montefia- 
scone  rose  out  of  the  wintry  haze. 

Continually  harassed  by  the  Romans  the  small  band 
hewed  their  way  through  their  pursuers  who  abandoned 
their  onslaughts  only  when  the  Germans  reached  the  Nera 

462 


RETURN 

and  beheld  the  Campanile  of  St.  Juvenale  rising  above 
Narni. 

Slowly  the  imperial  cortege  passed  through  the  ancient  town 
and  was  soon  lost  in  the  purple  mists,  which  enshrouded  moun 
tain  and  valley. 

Rome  lay  behind  them,  the  source  of  their  tears  and  sorrows. 

Onward,  ever  onward  they  rode  towards  the  glittering  crests 
of  the  Alps, the  solemn  twilight  of  theHercynian  forest,  towards 
the  distant  banks  of  the  Rhine  and  the  crypts  of  Aix-la-Cha- 
pelle. 


THE    END. 


463 


.  (Mage 

Announcement  Hist 

of 


Haunters  of  the  Silences.    BY  CHARLES  G. 

D.  ROBERTS,  author  of  "  Red  Fox,"  "  The  Watchers  of 
the  Trails,"  etc. 

Cloth,  one  volume,  with  many  drawings  by  Charles  Liv 
ingston  Bull,  four  of  which  are  in  full  color      .     $2.00 

The  stories  in  Mr.  Roberts's  new  collection  are  the  strong 
est  and  best  he  has  ever  written. 

He  has  largely  taken  for  his  subjects  those  animals  rarely 
met  with  in  books,  whose  lives  are  spent  "  In  the  Silences," 
where  they  are  the  supreme  rulers.  Mr.  Roberts  has  writ 
ten  of  them  sympathetically,  as  always,  but  with  fine  regard 
for  the  scientific  truth. 

"  As  a  writer  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an  enviable 
place.  He  is  the  most  literary,  as  well  as  the  most  imaginative 
and  vivid  of  all  the  nature  writers."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  His  animal  stories  are  marvels  of  sympathetic  science  and 
literary  exactness."  —  New  York  World. 

I 


L.    C.   PAGE   AND    COMPANY'S 


Prisoners  Of  Fortune.  A  TALE  OF  THE  MASSA 
CHUSETTS  BAY  COLONY.  BY  RUEL  PERLEY  SMITH, 
author  of  "  The  Rival  Campers,"  etc. 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece  by  Frank  T. 
Merrill $1.50 

The  period  of  Mr.  Smith's  story  is  the  beginning  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  when  the  shores  of  the  American  col 
onies  were  harassed  and  the  seas  patrolled  by  pirates  and 
buccaneers.  These  robbed  and  spoiled,  and  often  seized 
and  put  to  death,  the  sailors  and  fishers  anc  other  humbler 
folk,  while  their  leaders  claimed  friendship  anke  with  South 
ern  planters  and  New  England  merchants,  —  with  whom 
it  is  said  they  frequently  divided  their  spoils. 

The  times  were  stern  and  the  colonists  were  hardy,  but 
they  loved  as  truly  and  tenderly  as  in  more  peaceful  days. 
Thus,  while  the  hero's  adventures  with  pirates  and  his  search 
for  their  hidden  treasure  is  a  record  of  desperate  encounters 
and  daring  deeds,  his  love-story  and  his  winning  of  sweet 
Mary  Vane  is  in  delightful  contrast. 


The  Rome  Express.     BY  MAJOR  ARTHUR  GRIF 
FITHS,  author  of  "  The  Passenger  from  Calais,"  etc. 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece  by  A.  O. 
Scott $1-25 

A  mysterious  murder  on  a  flying  express  train,  a  wily 
Italian,  a  charming  woman  caught  in  the  meshes  of  circum 
stantial  evidence,  a  chivalrous  Englishman,  and  a  police 
force  with  a  keen  nose  for  the  wrong  clue,  are  the  ingredi 
ents  from  which  Major  Griffiths  has  concocted  a  clever,  up- 
to-date  detective  story.  The  book  is  bright  and  spirited, 
with  rapid  action,  and  consistent  development  which  brings 
the  story  to  a  logical  and  dramatic  ending. 


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